


December Rare Pair Drabbles

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Various Rare Pair Drabbles! Some are holiday related, others are not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 24,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21615502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of various rare pair drabbles. I had such fun with these. Some are holiday themed and some aren't... I followed the muse and I hope you enjoy all the various settings and pairs! :)
Relationships: Various Rare Pairs
Comments: 450
Kudos: 86





	1. Ron and Pansy--non-Voldy AU

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/gifts), [Frumpologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/gifts), [ravenslight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/gifts), [LovesBitca8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovesBitca8/gifts), [QuinTalon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinTalon/gifts), [MrsRen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/gifts), [Blessedindeed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blessedindeed/gifts), [Kyonomiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyonomiko/gifts), [Hystaracal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hystaracal/gifts).

> ALPHA LOVE AND THANKS TO MY DARLINGS: LADYKENZ347 AND FRUMPOLOGIST!! Y'all, you don't even know. I would have left the fandom months and months ago were it not for these two lovely librapuffs. Their endless encouragement, love, joy, and enthusiasm is insanely infectious <3 and I just adore them.  
Beta thanks to KwritesDramione :) thank you for stepping in and helping with this :)  
All remaining errors are my own!! 
> 
> This pairing is non-Voldy AU, and the pair is Ron and Pansy. For my darling LadyKenz347. 
> 
> I own no part of the Harry Potter Franchise

* * *

She was looking at him. 

Fuck him, but this was the third time tonight he’d caught her dark eyes searing into him from across the Leaky, and it was driving him mad. 

Women like Pansy Parkinson didn’t just  _ look _ at anyone—much less blokes like him. 

Pansy had been Slytherin royalty all through their years at school with her demure mannerisms, natural poise, perfectly painted and pouty lips, and luscious raven-coloured bobbed hair. She’d made the papers several months back, breaking off her marriage contract to the Slytherin Prince himself, Draco Malfoy, yet here she was  _ looking at him.  _

Ronald Weasley, the ridiculously tall former Gryffindor who was still considered “gawky” and had long-since given up the myth of growing into his height. Or ever having graceful control over his limbs, which was why he’d made a piss-poor Keeper, but it’d been the only spot available on the House team. There was the fact that his nose would forever be a bit small for his face and his freckles always too pronounced. 

And then there was his hair—it would never be as unruly as Harry’s, but it didn’t have that appearance of “natural chaos” either. No, it’d always be noticeably bright red, with a tendency to frizz, giving him the look of a wizard who couldn’t even afford a comb— or had the faintest idea how to perform any hair charms. 

Ron didn’t know which was worse. 

Because now she wasn’t just  _ looking _ at him, but she’d slipped from her seat and was walking. His heart dropped when he thought she was making her way to the door and he’d miss the chance to at least admire her from afar, but it stopped altogether when he discovered she was making her way  _ towards _ him. 

She was weaving through crowds and tables, eyes locked on him, and coming. Directly. Towards. Him. 

_ Him. _

And Godric and all the Founders, he needed to disappear—fast. This was everything perfect and everything horrible all rolled into one. Talking to her meant she’d know him as the idiot he was as an adult, not just the kid with all A’s and E’s in school… Talking to her meant she’d know how bloody awkward he could be in his zeal for  _ everything _ unimportant and Quidditch, and how “uncultured” he truly was (as Hermione had graciously pointed out to him last week at some Muggle museum), and how—

“Weasley.” Fuck him, she was  _ here _ . Head tilted perfectly, eyes darting between him and the empty seat next to him at the bar, her lashes fluttered and he forgot how to breathe. “Is this seat taken?” 

“It’s not,” he blurted before he could stop himself, then raked a hand through his ridiculous hair. “Though, it was a rubbish day, and I dunno if you’d want to waste your time dealing with a frustrated Weasley.” 

“Oh, Ronald.” Her voice was silk and honey and it did things to his heart, his blood, his… Everything stopped when her hand brushed against his arm as she lowered herself into the chair, dark chocolate eyes glistening in the golden light of the pub. “I never insert myself into a situation without first calculating all the variables.” Her ankle rested against his shin and she leaned into his space, as if sharing a confidence for his ears alone. “And I’ve had my eye on you long enough to tell you now that I’m right where I want to be.” 

_ Well, then _ … Who was he to argue with such logic?

Ron signaled for the barkeep, paying for their first drink together, an eager thrill shooting through him for the possibilities of the night... 

He made her breakfast of toast, bacon, and eggs the next morning, because that was exactly what she’d said she liked...   
  
And Ron figured, as much as he could, he wanted to give Pansy whatever she liked for as long as she’d let him.


	2. Hermione and Cedric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a non-voldy AU, in which Cedric still competed in the Tri-Wizard tournament, but as there was no Voldemort, he lived and Harry never participated.   
Professors/Co-workers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Frumpologist!! this was your idea and I loved writing this one for you!!!

* * *

Her hands were full, but that didn’t mean shifting and repositioning the books and rolls of parchment cradled in her arms and reaching for the wand in her back pocket was  _ impossible… _

But of course, because it was  _ so _ fitting for how the rest of the day had gone, the precarious balancing act while attempting to grab her wand to unlock the door to her quarters abruptly ended with everything in her arms somehow both flying  _ and _ falling everywhere… 

“Bollocks!” 

Hermione clapped both hands over her mouth even as her foot stomped hard over the floor. Language and all that, because she was now a professor and Charms Master, and there could be students lurking about, examples and all that, and—

“Need a hand there, Professor Granger?” 

The witch in question whirled, her curls straining to spring free from their pins, to find Professor Diggory in all of his handsome, perfectly poised and coiffed glory, his brows puckered in a concerned expression.

_ Of bloody course. _

She offered a tight smile, prepared to decline his very kind offer, when she remembered she’d promised Luna and Ginny she was going to  _ try  _ to be less stand-offish and awkward. She was supposed to be  _ working on _ ‘making an effort’ at being more accommodating and agreeable. 

“Not especially, Professor Diggory.” Sod Luna and Ginny; they could naff off. 

Her coworker’s eyes widened and his stance seemed to waver, a good indicator that he was ready to bolt from any further unpleasantness, when another sentence struck Hermione like a bolt of lightning. 

“I apologise!” she blurted, questioning herself now, because Hermione Granger rarely apologised for honesty, but to her utter amazement, his countenance seemed to soften and she found herself continuing, “It’s the end of a particularly involved day, and if you’re asking if I need help cleaning this mess I’ve made and getting my door unlocked, the answer to  _ that  _ is no. But, if you’d like to explain a few mysteries of Hogwarts while you’re here and I’m organising all of this nonsense, I’d appreciate any insight you have to offer.” 

She watched as his head tilted  _ just so _ to the right, a lone dirty blond curl falling over his forehead. Wand now in hand, she gave a silent flick of her wrist, collecting all parchment rolls into a levitated pile, her eyes never leaving his all the while. 

Until they did…

Until they studied the fine chiseled face, taking note of the sharp edges of his jawline, the way his mouth was perfectly bowed and plump, how his ears were just the right size, and how his hair was as thick and full and dreamy as ever and—

“I’m at your disposal, Professor Granger,” he answered at last, his voice a gentle caress. His hands slid into his pockets as he took not one but  _ two _ steps nearer, close enough for this to be mistaken as a conversation between two friends—close friends, even.

_ Maybe even more _ , her traitorous mind screamed. Because Godric and all the Founders knew that was all she needed to add to the list of things-gone-wrong today: an awakening of feelings she’d had for her third and fourth year crush and now coworker. He was just being polite—because all Pureblood wizards were reared in etiquette training and calligraphy and the history of their family trees. Mistaking his intention was  _ precisely  _ what Hermione Granger needed at the end of her first day of her new job. 

“When do boys learn there’s such a thing as body odor, and are properly informed of the importance of personal hygiene?” she blurted, wincing at herself, and quickly averting her eyes to the floor, desperate to lose herself in a complex summoning charm, if only to vanish from these scene entirely… 

“Third year, usually,” he answered easily. As if it were a perfectly normal question. As if he didn’t find her at all odd or off-putting. “Maybe fourth year for some, but I try to catch as many offenders in my class as possible.” 

“Oh?” Her eyes darted back to him, finding a warm smile spreading across his face. “They’re not embarrassed or upset over it?” 

He shrugged, taking one step closer as she silently summoned three books at once to her chest. “I think I have the perfect excuse in having a class that lends itself to physicality. We’re about and moving and practicing stances in Defense Against the Dark Arts a lot with me as professor. A broad spectrum reminder about washing up and smelling fresh for next class can be given to all at the beginning of the year, but if there are still some who haven’t taken the hint after two weeks, I intervene with a one-on-one.” 

“Very sensible of you.” She nodded, licking her lips, levitating the remainder of the books on the floor, and ushering everything to the door. “And the reason tensions are so high between all my sixth and seventh year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws is because…?” 

“The Quidditch Cup was won by Ravenclaw last year,” he supplied, smile widening as he took another step towards her. “Narrowly, because the game was mostly tied. But Jenkins caught the snitch not a minute after McGwain scored a goal.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes; some things would never change. She looked around at her door, then back to Ced— _ Professor Diggory _ … “I’m, well… It seems I’ve sorted my mess out, but, if you have the time to share of pot of tea, I still have some pressing questions, Professor.” 

“Love to.” He closed the remaining distance to her door in two long strides, almost beaming as he glanced back at her amidst her floating books and parchment rolls. “I prefer ‘Cedric’ if you don’t mind, and it just so happens I was coming down to see if you’d like to join me for tea and dinner in my quarters this evening.” 

“You… you were?” One blink. Two blinks… This was… unexpected to say the least.

He simply nodded, gesturing to her still locked door. “Certainly. I’ve been following your research in  _ Charms Unlimited _ for years now, and wanted to put together some ideas for combining Charms and Defense in duelling club this year.” 

_ Oh. _ This was purely professional then. She shouldn’t have been disappointed, she really shouldn’t have. There was nothing wrong with having a solid working relationship with one’s coworkers after all… Mustering a smile, she nodded, turning her wand at the doorknob, muttering her password under her breath. 

She gestured for him to enter her room first, ushering in the floating parchments and books, still somewhat deflated. As she made to follow him into the room, she walked smack into a barrier. 

A very human, and very  _ Cedric _ barrier. 

Her face scrunched as she looked up to meet his eyes. His waiting, and suddenly very serious blue eyes. “Sorry. You were honest with me earlier when you didn’t have to be. You could have played the helpless damsel and let me help you, but you were honest and brave, and I don’t know why I omitted my main truth to you just now.” 

“Truth?” Her heart thundered in her chest.  _ What was happening?!?!?!  _

“The truth,” he repeated, licking his lips. “See, I’m the one who’s been after the Headmaster to bring you on to replace Flitwick. I’m the one who suggested it three years ago when Flitwick first made mention he was thinking of retiring, and it’s a bloody dream come true that you’re finally here.” 

Sand. Her mouth was as sand, and she couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t think.  _ Couldn’t breathe _ . “What exactly are you trying to say, Cedric?” she asked, adding extra emphasis to his given name. 

With a flourish of his wand, a single stemmed bright red tulip appeared from nowhere, and he was proffering it to her. “I’m saying I’ve been admiring you from afar for years and years now, Professor Granger.” He dipped his head so she was aware of just how delicious he smelled, how vibrantly blue his eyes truly were, and how very much she liked being under him… “I’m saying you’ve dazzled me for ages with your clever, genius ways, and you’re a beautiful witch. I’m saying I’ve wanted to work up the courage to speak to you at all of the Ministry Galas over the years, but you’re always surrounded by a pack of important Auror Gryffindors, and I’m just a Hufflepuff professor with nothing meaningful to contribute.” 

“Nothing... Meaningful…?” The laugh bubbled past her lips before she could stop it. Taking the flower, she summoned every ounce of Gryffindor bravery she could muster and laid a hand flat against his chest. “You are aware that you were Hogwarts’ champion for the last Triwizard Tournament, aren’t you?” 

“Almost a decade ago, now.” 

“Regardless,” she countered, leaning dangerously and deliciously closer. “Cho Chang was the envy of every girl in school that year, and you’ve done very well for yourself here; don’t sell yourself short.” 

She made to move past him, but he caught her at the elbow, fingers curling around her sleeve, a sly grin slipping up his face. “ _ Every  _ girl, Professor Granger?” he parroted.

“Well,” she shrugged, “I managed to nurse my heartache by attending with Krum, but he turned out to be lacking in several other qualities I find attractive in a man.” 

A sandy-blond brow quirked at her, blue eyes dancing. “Oh?” 

“Quite, Cedric.” She jerked her head to her room. “Perhaps we can discuss some of those qualities over that pot of tea… If you think you can manage to call me Hermione, that is.” 

He gave a low chuckle, crossing the threshold, hands back in his pockets. “Anything you like…  _ Hermione. _ ”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Hermione decided the day may not be an unmitigated disaster. In fact, it may end up being exactly as a younger Hermione could have dreamed—meaning absolutely perfect.

Stinky boys, feuding students, and all. 


	3. Harry and Ginny for LadyKenz347

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's first time in a broom closet, sixth year! A prequel to "Crossing a Line" if you've read that oneshot... Love you LK!

* * *

Merlin’s purple robes, but Harry’s head was swimming. 

He and Ginny had just had their second “date,” if it could be called that since they hadn’t even left the school’s grounds, and Peeves had chased them down, making kissy sounds and cat calls until they’d made for an appearing staircase and dashed down for safety, not entirely sure where’d they’d end up, but beyond caring at all. 

And Ginny had just shoved him in a broom closet. 

And she was kissing him as if there’d be no tomorrow. Or like he was the water and she’d been lost in a desert all her life. 

The dragon in his chest that had sprang to life earlier in the year, ready to claw into Dean Thomas when the bastard would smirk at Harry over being caught with Ginny, now hummed in satisfaction, encouraging Harry to sweep her in his arms, flip their positions so  _ he’d  _ be the one pressing her against the wall… 

But Ginny was kissing him and that was all that mattered for now… He’d dreamed of these lips for  _ months _ and there was no—

“Fuck, Ginny,” he hissed, eyes wide, lips swollen and tingling, and completley out of breath as he pulled away. There was something akin to worry etching across her face, and he regrouped, pressing a kiss to her nose, then lips again. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t… I mean…” A nervous huff, because, hell, he had  _ no _ idea what he was doing. “It’s fine if you mean to… to feel me up and all, but it just… It caught me off guard. And if you didn’t mean to—”

“I did!” she exclaimed before he had a chance to complete his sentence. There was just enough light filtering through the door for him to notice the darkening of her cheeks and the resolution in her eyes as she licked her lips. Reaching behind her, she pulled her wand out of her back pocket, pointing it upwards as she cast the softest of light charms. She licked her lips again as she dropped it to the floor, lifting her chin as she held his gaze. “I meant for a lot of things coming in here, Harry Potter. If you want to leave now, you can, and that’s fine. I’m still your girl and all, but…” 

“Ginny…” His voice turned low and husky, as his head dipped impossibly closer, their breaths mingling. “You’ll have to be  _ really _ clear with what you’re saying right now, love. Very,  _ very _ clear. Because I can be really thick sometimes.” 

Her lips were on him again, desperate, passionate. The dragon growled, churning and thrumming in his blood, and he listened to the call to flip their positions now, settling between Ginny’s thighs, pressing his hardening bulge into her core. 

“Fuck me, Harry,” she moaned when their lips separated. “Use that perfect little silencing charm you’ve picked up this year, and fuck me here and now.” He groaned as she fingered the button of his trousers and peppered kisses down his neck. “Been randy for you all day, and ages before that.” 

And that was the last cohesive thought Harry Potter had the rest of the afternoon. He vaguely remembered fumbling for his wand and muttering a few spells for privacy and comfort. He remembered relief flooding his mind when Ginny muttered something about the potion between kisses. 

But the world faded to blackness and stars as he did exactly as Ginny asked, and fucked her into the wall of the broom closet of some unknown floor at Hogwarts. 


	4. Neville/Luna...Kinda. 7th Canonverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville POV, looking for Luna on the Hogwarts Express, Christmas 7th year...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY!! just remember how this ends in the book... and please don't hate me for it! lol s

* * *

A whistle blew loud and firm over the chittering of first and second years—happy for the end of term. Happy to return home to their families for some holiday reprieve. Happy at the thought of Christmas, traditions, food, and family. 

( _ Safety, too, sadly enough…) _

…Happy for the first time in months, if Neville had to hazard a guess, but it felt infinitely longer now. Ages really. The halls of Hogwarts and carriages of the  _ Hogwarts Express  _ had once been filled to the brim with chatter, laughter, and other sounds of merriment. Friendliness even. 

None of that happened this year, though. 

A dank darkness draped itself over the castle, and her students by default. Known Death Eaters ran the school, and cold fear gripped the very heart of Hogwarts, squeezing and snuffing out every spark of life from her halls.

But not from within Neville. 

Not this year. 

He had risen to the name of Godric Gryffindor himself. 

He’d plotted with Luna and Ginny to steal the Sword of Gryffindor from the headmaster’s office. He’d defiantly stared Snape down, unblinking against the cold, lifeless eyes of his childhood tormentor as he’d been given his detention assignment. He’d stood up to the Carrows, accepting  _ Crucio  _ after  _ Crucio  _ when he refused to “properly discipline” first years who’d only said and done as one would imagine and expect a first year to say and do. 

Sure, there’d been times of loneliness. Times when he’d missed Harry’s charm and cheek, or Ron’s whinging and propensity for stuffing his face every available opportunity. Hell, he’d even missed Hermione with her time charts for study schedules. But hope burned bright in his chest. 

His friends were alive and out there, trying to find a way to defeat  _ You-Know-Who  _ (taboo and all that… why risk even thinking it?). Neville was now confident in his role, and what  _ he  _ was doing to make a difference.

The train lurched, engines and wheels groaning, it started off, and Neville stumbled against a door. A carriage of third year Hufflepuffs blinked and smiled at him, one even daring to loose a giggle as she waved her fingers in his direction. He returned their smiles with a strained one of his own, setting off again in search of the only person he wanted to spend time with. 

Not Dean or Seamus, with all their distracting games of Exploding Snap. Not Ginny, who’d taken to distracting herself with game after game of Wizard’s Chess. And certainly not McClaggen, even though he’d turned out to be an all right bloke when push had come to shove this year. 

No. 

Neville was on the prowl for Luna Lovegood. 

Luna with her dancing eyes that seemed to reflect the moon and stars above in her pale blue irises. Luna with her endlessly long and curly blonde hair that she’d taken to wearing in the most distractingly  _ fetching  _ plaits as of late—plaits he’d spent countless hours over the course of the term daydreaming and fantasising about. He wondered how it’d be to lose his hands in those plaits as he tipped her head back…

Kissing a wet trail up the column of her flawless neck… taking his time to nuzzle and linger and hum soft words, cherishing words, over each of her smooth, creamy cheeks… pillowing her lips with his where he’d just remain for a long while. Kissing, nipping, sucking, and worshipping… 

Murmuring sweet nothings to her in the secret and security of the night… 

Because he could take her to a world all their own at night. A world of pleasure, love, safety. A world of forgetting the horrors of the day, and clinging to life and cherishing under a blanket of quiet and stars—

“Nev…  _ Neville! _ ”

Neville shook his head, raking a hand through his hair, slouching to hide any potential growing bulge as he thought of a cold shower… Seamus’ eyebrows on fire…Snape in his gran’s hat and skirt… 

_ That did it _ …

“You worried about her, too?” 

“Worried?” Neville blinked once, then twice, his brows furrowing and knitting tightly together. “Whom are we worried about?” 

“Luna,” Ginny answered, eyes narrowed. There was the unmistakable lilt of fear laced through her words as she continued, “I saw her trunk on the platform around a bunch of other Ravenclaw students and I assumed they’d either reverted back to hiding things from her or she’d simply forgotten about it, going off to talk to someone. I brought it on board with mine, telling the students to let her know I had it, and thinking she’d come find me.” 

Her words shot through Neville. “She hasn’t?” 

Lips pinching together, Ginny shook her head. “I was coming to see if she’d found you and had been caught up in whatever you lot were up to…” Her words were cut off as her throat bobbed. Her hands balled into fists at her side. “You… you haven’t seen her, have you?”

“No.” Such a horrible word. So defining. So sure and committed. So devoid of hope. “I lost sight of her on the platform while watching the first and second years get on board. I got on just before we shoved off… Maybe she’s been caught up talking about Wrackspurts or Nargles or something with Brocklehurst, yeah?” 

“Maybe…” 

It was all she said as she moved to search the train with him…

And it would be the last thing he’d consciously remember repeating to himself as a mantra, a wish, a prayer… until long after they’d arrived at King’s Cross station. 

With no Luna anywhere to be found. 


	5. Ginny and Blaise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short Ginny and Blaise and Quidditch for LovesBitca8

* * *

He was there again. 

Keeping himself to the side of the Quaffle on the left—the one Ginny often favoured for scoring, much to the dismay of her coaches. Blaise-bloody-Zabini was in the exact same seat in the stands for the fourth time this month. 

And Godric, she could feel the heat of his stare as she neared that goal. Every. Last. Time. 

So it was only natural that immediately after Jessica caught the snitch, ending the game and sealing a victory for the Harpies, Ginny  _ didn’t _ descend to the grassy pitch, but instead leaned heavily over her broom, zooming straight for the still seated, chiseled wizard with dark skin and a charcoal grey suit. 

“Zabini.”

“Ginerva.” He nodded, his teeth gleaming white against a flawless face as his lips curled into a smirk. “You played well.” 

How cordial and expected—a compliment... But she’d heard stories. And she was in no mood for anything sentimental and courtly. Not right now, at least. 

Which was why, instead of blushing and thanking him as she might have once done for Harry or Dean or even Michael Corner, she lifted her chin, eyeing him up and down— _ slowly _ —permitting her gaze to linger on a few choice areas about his sculpted body. The wizard didn’t flinch under her scrutiny, and in fact, seemed to bear a very satisfied expression when their eyes finally met. 

She hummed, a brow arching as she licked her lips. “If you’re back in this spot again our next home game, I expect you to have a celebratory bottle of Ogden’s finest for us to share after we win.”

A narrow brow of his lifted in return. “And what should I have prepared in the unlikely event of your defeat?” 

“We won’t lose.” Her eyes dropped immediately, as she shot down to join the rest of her teammates, trying very hard not to focus long on whether or not she’d see him again. Whether or not she’d misread the situation... 

But three days later, there he was, a brown paper parcel and bouquet of flowers occupying the seat beside him. She smirked to herself, knowing the game was already won.


	6. Remus and Hermione

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU in which Remus lives. For LadyKenz347 and MrsRen

* * *

_ Mine, mine, mine.  _

“Mmm, of course I’m yours, love.” A feminine laugh tickled the air of the room between the moans and sighs of sex. 

_ Good sex. Great sex.  _

A low “shut it,” escaped from Remus’ lips, making his witch giggle all the more. 

Which irritated Moony, making him snap and snarl and bark a sharp “ _ Focus _ !” across Remus’ mind—but the insufferable tosser werewolf proved himself a puppy easily soothed as Hermione leaned over, capturing his lips with hers.

_ Mine _ . 

“Yours, Remus.” Kisses peppered down his neck as delicate hands tangled with his, lifting them over his head while she continued that slow, achingly delicious pace. Her thighs clamped tighter around his hips and her lips hovered over his again; her curls falling as a curtain around their faces. “Yours, yours, and only yours.” 

It was torture. It was beauty. 

It was agony. It was bliss. 

It was a steady pace up to that perfect peak... until something in her eyes flamed. They burned with a dark fire of mingled lust and love, and Hermione’s hips snapped. Hard. 

And then she was riding him with a maddening fury, her grip on his hands tightening as her chocolate-brown eyed locked to his—just as she knew he loved it best. Moony was spinning and whimpering. Remus’ arse clenched, his face straining... needing to claim his witch’s mouth before they both careened over the edge. 

His lips found hers...

Her tongue slipped against his...

He hummed into her...

And that must have been the last something his witch needed. The last nudge to tease her senses before her sex clamped down over him and she  _ fucking purred _ into mouth. 

_ Mine.  _

_ Mine. _

_ Mine.  _

Remus tore his hands from hers, curling them around the curve of her bare hips, holding on for dear life as he thrust  _ one... two... three... _

_ Four... _

And then he was soaring—soaring and falling—emptying himself of everything into his witch. 

It was a blur of pants, grunts, mess, slick, kisses, and a cleaning charm until she was wrapped in his arms. Moony sighed, curling around himself, sated and sleepy. 

“Mine,” he hummed into her curls. 

Hermione giggled into his chest, her fingers tracing up and down and all around his shoulders. “A bit the point of making it official with a wedding and all earlier today.”

“Mrs. Lupin,” he smirked, nuzzling his nose over her brow. “Or Mr. Granger, if you like. I’m still not opposed to exchanging my name for yours, keeping with the spirit of the times—we’re a modern couple with a proper age gap and all, and—“

“ _ Shhhh _ !” 

She nipped at one of his pecks, still giggling in that sweet way that had Moody’s ears perking... and tired member twitching, forgetting he wasn’t the vivacious youth he once was...

But Hermione kissed him senseless, calling herself ‘Mrs. Lupin’ until he was hovering over her, slipping into her waiting sex, and all set for his first night as a married man to be spent in an endless melody of tangos and waltzes between the sheets of their bed. 

Moony contentedly crooning  _ mine _ , all the while.


	7. Fred and Hermione, HBP snippet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For ravenslight. A little bit of Fremione for you, friend! I hope you enjoy it!!

* * *

Ron stomped off in an offended huff, but that was fine with Fred. He’d already forgotten about the whinging ickle Ronnykins that hadn’t really grown up yet, hadn’t quite made it to the point where he’d realised the world didn’t revolve around him and his own needs… 

Which suited Fred Weasley just fine.

A solid bribing Christmas present would sufficiently soothe ruffled feathers and hot nerves—but he wasn’t wasting any more of his limited time with thoughts of his little brother. 

Not when there was a Hermione lingering in his presence, gazing around at what he’d poured his heart and soul into over the last several months. 

A Hermione picking up various potions and trinkets, reading labels and instructions, only to return them to their place on the shelf. 

A blossoming and blooming Hermione potentially admiring his work, at that… Which wasn’t to say she wasn’t lovely before now. Hell, she’d grown up quite nicely before the Quidditch World Cup two summers ago, but the difference between a fourth year and a sixth year when it came to  _ fancying  _ had seemed too insurmountable then.

_ Last year though… _

Last year when she’d lectured him and George over and over for testing products at whim, allowing first years to volunteer and all that… Godric help him, but he’d wanted to lock her in a room and watch her scold and rant and rave until late into the night… 

But he’d left the school in such an epic flurry of pranks (wicked and remarkable, if he said so himself) that he hadn’t managed to say any goodbyes; certainly not to little Ronny’s friends. 

Now, though, Granger was  _ here _ , Ron was distracted, and no one was calling his name. 

“Anything catching your eye, Hermione?” He slipped his hands in his pockets, sauntering up so that he was somewhere between at her side and just behind her. 

“Just looking,” she hummed, picking up a vial on a new shelf, studying its label and not paying as much attention to him and his newfound proximity as he would have liked. 

Well then…

“You might want to have a look at this here…” He stretched up to the shelf just out of her reach, leaning over just enough for her to take note of how close he was now. Her chocolate-brown eyes were wide as he brought down the black velvet box, proffering it to her. “I’ve been toying around with various items for shield charms while waiting for George to perfect hexes and combining them both on products to sell. I’m a bit proud of this…” 

He didn’t move—refused to step back, thank you very much—and it seems all breath was pressed from his lungs as Hermione’s fingers brushed against his hand and closed over the velvet box. 

“A necklace?” She blinked up at him, brow puckered and furrowed, even as a soft giggle bubbled into the space between them. “An otter charm necklace at that.” She held it up, turning it and bringing it closer for a quintessential Hermione Granger study. “You say it’s been imbued with a shield charm?” 

“Indeed it has.” He leaned inward, just a breath more… 

“It’s a beautiful piece,” she said, laying it back in the box. “And a brilliant idea. Why not have it out on display with the rest of the Defense Against the Dark Arts items?” 

A swell of pride burst in his chest, knowing that Hermione had not only been in here long enough to peruse through almost  _ everything _ , but she’d taken special note of their various product lines as well. He swallowed everything down in what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug and flirtatious wink. “Special items for special people, Hermione…” 

Her eyes were impossibly widen and her lips parted in an expression of silent shock. “Special?!” she sputtered, smoothing her hands over her denims, appearing to try to regain composure, but, oh, she was lovely when caught off guard…

“Special,” he repeated, a crooked smile sneaking unbidden on his lips. And maybe he was pushing his luck, but he dared another step closer, reaching out and curling his fingers over hers, closing the box in a loud  _ thump _ . “We’ve managed to slip different shielding items to Harry, Ron, and Ginny, but I personally worked on this one with you in mind.”

“Me? What in the name of—” Her voice was low and breathy as her eyes dropped to their hands, his fingers still wrapped over hers. She lifted her eyes back to his, whispering, “Why?” 

“Because there’s always happiness to be found, even when all seems darkest.” He added a dash of pressure to his hold on her hand, his fingers caressing hers a moment before dropping his hand back to his side. “Can I, that is… Would it be all right if I wrote to you this year, Hermione?” 

“Of course, you may  _ write  _ to me, Fred; we’re fr—” 

“No.” He gave a firm shake of his head, taking one final step closer, the gap between them all but diminished now. “Not just writing when I need help on a charm, potion, or spell. And not just to see how Ron and Ginny are. I want to ask you how your classes are and read your thorough responses. I want to tell you things and have you tell me things, get to know you better and all that. Maybe plan a trip to Hogsmeade a weekend you’ll be there, too, and plan to have a Butterbeer with you, then take you to the bookshop or a walk or something.” 

She was still for what seemed like an eternity before nodding. Slowly, but nodding nonetheless. “Sure, but why would—

“ _ Fred!! _ ”

The addressee jerked back, finding Verity in the midst of a large group of children, waving at him with no small amount of desperation.

“Must dash, Hermione.” He looked back, laying his palm over hers again and squeezing her hand still clutching the box. “The necklace is yours. No charge but maybe a promise to answer my owl when I send it, yeah?”

“All right.” She was nodding again, adorably so, and looking all flushed and confused, and Merlin, he didn’t want to leave, but Verity was calling again…

Any further attempts to woo her would just have to wait. 


	8. Pansy and Neville, 8th year, post-war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For LovesBitca8. Pansy hates gardening... and yet...

* * *

It was no secret Pansy Parkinson loathed gardening. That was nothing new. 

She despised the greater outdoors in general—not to be confused with the brief stroll from shop to shop, or shop to restaurant. The occasional summer lie out under a large umbrella on at the beach served its purpose, if only to feel the heated stares of admirers passing by. But there was something different about the wild and untamed grounds of Hogwarts. Something different about how quickly her body responded to the temperamental whims of the weather with collecting beads of sweat. Something different about how quickly flies and gnats flocked and swarmed about her person as soon as she stepped outdoors. It set her on edge. 

But the thing was, the concept of gardening for a healthy outlet and outlook on life had long since been drilled into her. Not by her own dearest mother, oh no. 

It was Narcissa Malfoy, the mother-in-law she’d always presumed she’d one day have that believed such menial things as gardening to be of the utmost importance. 

Narcissa adored life beyond the confines of walls and roofs as much as she lived and breathed gardening. Malfoy Manor boasted some of the most beautiful gardens in all of wizarding Britain, and Narcissa oversaw the planting, weeding, and hovering care of every last flower, bush, hedge, and budding plant in her realm. 

And so, it was always implied Pansy should enjoy gardening as well, having a common hobby to share with her future mother-in-law and all that. 

But the War changed everything. 

The war stripped Pansy of the illusion of a happy and well-adjusted past, an easily navigated present, and a predictable future. 

Stability, peace, safety, dreams… There was none of that left for her. There was no Draco waiting for her at the end of a victorious war. There were no friends back at school to confide in, or even just acquaintances to size herself up against for comparison and at least feel pleased she still had her figure and looks. 

There was nothing. 

That single, inescapable truth was her only explanation for why she now found herself outside the greenhouse instead of the Great Hall for dinner the first night back at school for her court-ordered eighth year. The emptiness of her existence was the only logical reason she could possibly have for venturing all the way out here, to cast wistful gazes on row after row of potted colourful flowers. 

Flowers she knew by name,  _ thank you very much, Narcissa _ , but cared nothing for. Why bother? They’d only wilt, whither, and die. Another would grow in its place…

“Are you lost?” 

Her head jerked left, her cropped dark hair swishing about her shoulders, keen eyes searching

Longbottom. 

_ Of-fucking-course.  _

She didn’t bother stifling the sneer of being caught from creeping up her face. “Hardly. But dinner was something intolerable and I found myself in need of space from the nattering of  _ children _ .” Her chin lifted of its own accord as she considered the green house’s other occupant. “Have you been assigned detention already? What’d you do? Explode a cauldron in Potions or turn McGonagall’s hand into a tentacle when she asked for a bear claw?” 

Longbottom chuckled, shaking his head as he looked back down to various pots of soil on the work table before him, and Pansy’s eyes blew wide at the sheer audacity of it all. 

A Gryffindor twat. Laughing at her. 

_ A snake-slaying, war hero, highly attractive Gryffindor twat _ , she found herself admitting. The past few years had been kind to him, there was no denying that… But that only grated on her nerves all the more.

“Laughing because it’s true, Longbottom?” 

“No,” he answered, lifting his eyes to her as his hands kept about their business. “At least not today anyway. McGonagall knows better than to assign me to anything that complex so early in the term, and without considerable time to practice. And I’ve not had potions since fifth year, so nothing to explode today at least.” 

“I see.” She blinked twice, the silence between them confusingly…  _ amicable _ … Which wouldn’t do at all. “Then why the hell are you out here fussing away over dumb plants when all your friends are surely making such a riotous scene at dinner?” 

“Needed time to myself.” 

“…With… plants…?” She didn’t bother trying to hide her disdain. 

“Naturally.” He chuckled to himself again at his own insipid joke, and it was to Pansy’s great dismay that she found herself not despising the sound. It was low and rumbly, seeming to come from a place of depth and contentment—a place of  _ happiness… _

She gave a thick swallow as he continued prattling on, unaware of the internal battle of emotions and thoughts within her person. “I think there’s something lovely in the world of plants. It’s silent, but things are still happening—growth, change, nourishment.” 

“That’s pandering for children, Longbottom,” she sniffed. “And we haven’t been children for a while now, have we?” 

“No, we haven’t. You’re not wrong. But I’m not either.” 

She arched a narrow brow at him. 

But he only shrugged and looked back to the pots full of earth, soil a rich, dark colour—perfect for cultivating new life. He worked in silence, dropping seeds in a welled out hole, gently covering them with a small handful of dirt, then patting them as a father would his young child. It went on for so long that Pansy assumed he’d decided to ignore her for mocking him, ignore her because he didn’t agree.

Perfect. Keep him on the list of people who hated her—or worse still, were indifferent towards her. Because this was now her life: wading through torrential waves of those who knew her and wanted nothing to do with her. She was doomed to roam the earth as a primped and poshed-up shell of all she’d been and dreamed of becoming.

She was sentenced to stagnation while people like Longbottom had the nerve to grow up and become attractive, brave, courageous, caring, and maybe even  _ wise  _ (though, she’d never admit to him being ‘clever’). 

She couldn’t stand another minute in his silent judgement or unconcerned ambivalence—one was just as stifling as the other. And she’d had enough. With a scoff, she turned on her heels, eyes narrowed on her point of exit, her salvation, and breath of air—

“I’ll be watering them tomorrow if you want to come back.” 

His voice was kind and soft, sweetly lulling her to stop in her tracks, bidding her to turn slightly and look back at him over her shoulder. 

He was blinking at her, a half smile perched on his lips, with his hands wrapped around a pot. Large hands, she noted, and caked with dirt, but large and strong looking. Hands that were likely rough and calloused and—

“Pardon?” she asked, shaking herself before she ventured down the dangerous path of speculating  _ all  _ the many good uses Longbottom could find for those workman’s hands… Salazar, what was wrong with her? Noticing things like the rumble of the air when Longbottom laughed and admiring something as banal as his  _ hands _ … 

“The flower pots will need to be watered. I’ll be back here around the same tomorrow evening if you’d like some peace and quiet.” He canted his hand at her, taking up a rag to wipe his hands, as if he were a squib… And yet… There was something mesmerising about it. 

“What makes you think I’d find it in myself to venture this far outdoors again, even for a moment of solitude? Plenty of that to be found within the castle if one knows where to look.” 

He shrugged, still smiling that irritatingly captivating half-smile. “Maybe you’re like me and you need a change this year. Herbology was always my favourite, but there were pesky things like friends, tournaments, High Inquisitors, and the like keeping me from pursuing it as I would have wanted. But I’m in charge of my own destiny this year, and I’m making a fresh go of things.” 

Logical. That was all well and logical… And stuff of bedtime stories for children. “Don’t hold your breath waiting, Longbottom,” she said, continuing for the door again…

When…

“It’s Neville.”

Such a simple statement, but she froze at the door, something aching and flickering and very nearly stirring to life within her chest. His name. He’d given her his name to use at will, and had she been the simpering witch she’d once been, she’d have whirled on the spot, planting herself beside him, asking him to tell her all about the seedlings he’d just planted… 

But she was still the witch changed by the War, which meant she did  _ not  _ turn, but continued on her way, face grim and resolute in  _ not  _ looking back… 

And yet… 

Halfway through her trek to the castle, she’d already justified to herself a reasonable explanation for making this walk again tomorrow evening. 


	9. Percy and Lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my dear Frumpologist... Percy and Lavender, just for you <3

* * *

She wasn’t here. 

Percy Weasley huffed, checking his watch for the  _ sixth  _ time in— _ bugger!  _ A quarter past noon exactly, which meant he’d been sitting here for precisely twelve minutes, checking his watch, on average, once every two minutes.

He stifled a groan in the back of his throat, willing it from existence before it escaped past his lips. Because he had more dignity than releasing plebeian noises of irritation when life deviated from plan. 

Not that there was even a  _ plan _ . 

It was nothing. Really. There was  _ no  _ plan. 

It wasn’t as if he’d rearranged his entire day for the last three weeks to allow for an hour-long lunch at  _ The Three Broomsticks  _ of all places. It wasn’t as if he’d counted down the hours and minutes each and every day, ticking items off his to-do list, giving credence and justification for his newly extended lunch break… All for the pleasure of watching Lavender Brown as she sat silently and slowly at lunch by herself in a booth tucked into the back corner of the pub…

That wasn’t it  _ at all _ . 

Because they’d never once spoken to each other, only making casual eye contact a handful of times in the last three weeks…

_ Seven times,  _ Percy amended to himself. 

His eyes had locked with her arresting arctic blues seven times in the last three weeks, stealing any and all preconceived greetings and introductions from his mind, the breath from his lungs… 

Was it too much to hope she’d dine at the same place every work day for the foreseeable future while he worked up the nerve to make his way to her booth and  _ strike up a sodding conversation with her _ , and—

“Message for you, Mr. Weasley.” His typical waiter (Charles) appeared from nowhere, slapping a folded portion of torn parchment on the table, frowning as he did. “Will you be having your usual today?” 

“No, thank you.” His heart thundered against its bony cage as he reached for the note and took a quick glance about the pub. “Who gave you this message, Charles?” 

The portly, balding waiter jerked his head in the direction of Lavender’s usual booth and Percy’s heart rate raced tenfold… A hundredfold! “The witch that’s been sitting over there lately. Came to the back of the pub all secret like asking Tom to get it to ya. Tom gave it to Stewart who gave it to me.” 

“Right.” Words failed him. She’d  _ not  _ come in and what in the name of Merlin could that mean?! 

“You gonna order anything now?”

“What?” Percy blinked back up, confused at what this gentleman was still doing at his table…  _ Oh _ … “Not yet, Charles. I’ll need another minute to think. Thank you.” 

The wizard’s frown was quite distinct as he huffed off, but Percy couldn’t be bothered to care; his now “usual,” was hardly palpable and had only made lunch here a daily occurrence because of the pretty blonde in the back corner booth, after all… 

He unfolded the parchment, deciding her penmanship as flawless as the bow in her lip when she smiled over something in her magazine… 

_ I got tired of waiting for you to make a move, Percy Weasley, so here’s the deal: if you want to see me again, be sitting in my usual booth tomorrow at noon with an explanation for the last three weeks. If I decide it’s endearing enough, I hope you’re fine with finding a new place to lunch with me _ — _ this place never was my favourite, but I kept coming back for you.  _

_ Lavender _

He read it again. And then again. And once more, his shoulders shaking with laughter by the end. It’d be no sacrifice at all to exchange mediocre pub food for a proper meal with the most beautiful witch he’d ever seen.

But he’d suffer one final meal for a proper conversation. 

He was a gentleman, after all, and he’d do anything his lady wished.


	10. Charlie and Hermione

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Married Charmione Christmas things...

* * *

_ “You like that, love?”  _

_ “Mmm… Charlie…”  _

_ Large, deliciously calloused hands lovingly tracked down her bare torso. Lips peppered a trail of wet kisses up her thigh…  _

_ The walls of her sex clenched in anticipation… _

_ Up, up, up…  _

_ Hot breath suddenly hovered right there… She shivered, a whimper falling from her lips. _

_ And Charlie, damn him, knew just what this was doing to her. Another scorching breath seared into her as he loosed a dark chuckle. “This what you were waiting for?”  _

_ “Uh huh…” Who could possibly fathom forming complete sentences at the hand—at the mouth—of such an attentive wizard? Everything tightened and coiled in anticipation, but it seemed he was in the mood to tease tonight. Merlin, how he could take his time when he was in the mindset to… “Charlie,” she moaned, hoping to encourage him to finally, finally lower his mouth to her-- _

THUD!

“CHARLIE!!!!”

Hermione thrashed in bed, struggling with a sheet, a quilt, and what she surmised to be a pillow.

Jerking herself upright, she acted on instinct, snatching up her wand from her side table. Feeling extremely ridiculous as she wavered about, she needed a moment to catch her balance and get hold of her bearings when— 

_ Tap, tap, tap.  _

“Charlie?” she called out, blinking into the dark, feeling for him when she didn’t hear even a peep from her husband’s side of the bed— _ cold _ . The fitted sheet on his side was cold, which could only mean he’d been out of bed for hours now… 

Hermione turned her bleary gaze to the window where the incessant tapping persisted, and she determined there would be no peace until she sacrificed her warmth and comfort to let the bloody owl in.

Judging by the force and frequency of the rapping against the window pane, Hermione had one major guess as to who the sender could be. 

“Honestly,” Hermione grumbled, casting a  _ Lumos,  _ throwing back all that was cozy and wonderful, dipping her woolen-socked feet to the floor, then marching to window. “Will she ever learn we’re a solid two hours ahead of her? Come in, come in, and let me fetch you a treat.” Missive now in hand, Hermione padded across the room to the tin with the specialty treats the Weasley family owl enjoyed the most. 

The brown menace, Puck, hooted and nipped affectionately at her fingers, ruffling his feathers as he glanced at the window. 

“It is a long flight back home, love,” Hermione cooed, remembering that for reasons she’d never be able to understand, this little thing liked her best out of the entire brood of Weasleys. “I can’t send a response yet, so you may as well tuck in with Carton for night. I’ll release you both for a hunt in the light of day, all right?” 

The owl nuzzled his head against her hand before spreading his wings and fluttering out the window as Hermione peeked her head out, cold stinging her cheeks. There was a faint  _ hoot _ , signaling her to open the large outdoor caged area, complete with a climate control charm to ensure maximum comfort for the owl they’d had nearly seven years. After giving the Weasley family owl sufficient time to enter the cage, she cast a closing spell from the confines of her room, trusting that should the process have gone awry in the dark, Puck would be back in no time. 

They’d gone through processes similar to this often enough by now…

Glancing down to the note in her hand, then back up to her empty bed, there was really only one course of action from here. By the time Hermione dressed herself for the cold night and wrangled her curls into a loose bun atop her head, there was still no sign of Puck, so she decided it was safe to find her husband.

And there was only one place he could possibly be at whatever hour of the night it currently was. Her husband was many things, many  _ wonderful  _ and insatiable things, but on the list somewhere was also ‘avid believer in the importance of sleep.’ There was only one thing in the world that could drag him from bed once he’d settled in for the night. 

Wand in hand, she squeezed her eyes tight as the world twisted and spun, magic hurtling her to the first place she knew to look.

Stars winked down at her from their place in the inky heavens above as she landed just outside a simple wooden building—at least, what had been charmed to appear as nothing more than a common warehouse or storage shed for supplies. Hermione moved her wand in a series of waves and flourishes, keeping her voice low as she muttered the entrance spell. 

“Charlie?” she called out, entering the building and tugging the scarf from her neck. 

“Number five, love.” 

_ Of course _ .

Grinning to herself and shaking her head, she rounded the corner of the entryway, tip toeing her way to the last room on the left, finding the door to the nursery wide open, and possibly one of the most beautiful sights in the world inside. 

Charlie Weasley—burly, perfectly sculpted, permanently stubble-jawed, bathed in the soft, golden light of the nursery. His hair was thrown up in a haphazard bun as well, taking up half a bench by himself, elbows over his knees as he hunched over a makeshift dragon’s nest. 

His fingers unfurled from his chin and he offered her a sheepish smile as she crossed the threshold of the room. “I cast a warming charm over her before leaving,” he started, lifting up his arm and wrapping it around Hermione the moment she took her place beside him. His fingers rested on her coat just over her now slightly protruding baby bump, where he began to trace affectionate patterns. Pressing a kiss to her temple, his breath tickled her skin when he asked, “But maybe that was too much for you by this time…? Did you wake up hot?” 

“You could say that,” she huffed, burrowing herself deeper into his side. “Randy for my wizard would be another way of putting it.”

“Oh, really?” His feral chuckle filled the room, sending  _ delicious  _ chills down her spine… Chills that commanded her spine to arc just  _ so  _ and forced a whimper from her throat as she squeezed her thighs together—all of which only served to deepen his laugh before he claimed her lips for a kiss. 

A kiss from lips she’d long since memorised. Lips she knew by heart. Lips that had explored every last inch of her body over the past almost-decade of being with Charlie… And yet, they still moved, slid, and slanted over hers in ways that communicated she was being savoured. Cherished. Adored…

“Bloody hell,” she groused, forcing herself away before  _ things  _ happened right here in the nursery. Delectably naughty  _ things _ … Squirming in her seat, she forced herself to focus on the nest, clearing her throat before asking, “How much longer d’you think?” 

“Any day now, Oh Insatiable One.” He rested his head on hers. “Really though, you all right? You didn’t wake up too hot or cold? In need of a midnight snack of fruit, cheese, and that vile American concoction?”

“It’s peanut butter and it’s hardly vile, love,” she tutted, flicking his leg. “But none of those things actually. Not even a need for the loo, which is highly irregular by now.” He chortled along with her, pulling her closer, which should have been impossible, but then he urged her legs over one of his, shifting so that they were a tangled cuddle of limbs and shared breath as they looked from each other back to the nest. “Your mum sent Puck,” she ventured once they were settled and comfortable. 

A sigh fell from his lips. “Reckoned she would soon.” She felt his shoulder shrug. “Not much we can do about it, though. It’s not anyone’s fault the eggs are due to hatch the days around Christmas, and she needs to bloody move on—what’d she call me this time? A stuffy workaholic, married to my work with you as my doting mistress?”

It was dry and dark, but there was a ring of truth in his words, and Hermione knew that. This was hardly the first family Christmas Charlie had missed over the years now that she and Charlie were together, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last… 

So Hermione joined him with an accepting sigh, flittering her dangling booted feet back and forth between her husband’s legs. “I didn’t open it yet. Figured we could together.” 

“Later,” he grunted, his hold on her tightening. “Besides, I’ve a feeling we’ll more than make up for our absence over Christmas Day come New Year’s when we come with news that she’s going to be a gran again.” 

“A logical conclusion, dearest.” They giggled as one, huddled in watchful care by the dragon’s nest, speaking in hushed voices long into the night. 

Charlie carried, actually physically  _ carried,  _ Hermione from the enchanted building, Apparating them back home, curling himself around her for a few hours of sleep before making good on the dream she’d had earlier. 

Which Hermione decided was the best way to start Christmas Eve, and should become an annual tradition from then on.


	11. Harry and Cho--post-war, co-workers/Aurors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Frumpologist

* * *

“Bollocks this holiday!”

Harry shoved at the partially wrapped parcel, throwing his hands in the air, exasperation rolling from him in waves.

“Harry?”

The wizard in question’s arms instantly fell limp at his sides just as the beautiful face of one Cho Chang poked through his office door. Harry knew the world was out to get him right then and there. 

The rest of her body followed as she opened the door farther, and he was left with no other choice but to stand there, feeling like a child being caught doing something naughty as she surveyed the scene of mangled wrapping paper, gift bags, and a fucking nightmare of a wrapping job atop his desk… Or perhaps it was the feelings of anger and confusion that controlled all his physical, emotional, and mental states of being at this point… 

He was the jilted lover, and Cho, his former Auror partner, the jilter… 

Only they hadn’t been lovers.

He hadn’t even gotten to the point of asking her out on a proper date… But he would have been willing to bet money on the fact that they’d grown to be  _ more  _ than just work partners in the last two years… Much,  _ much more…  _

Until Cho went ahead and fucked with his mind by requesting a transfer of partners out of the blue at the end of last week, without any explanation to Harry, any warning,  _ any  _ indication at all that she’d found him lacking as a partner.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her fingers laced together, gripping each other in a hold so tight her knuckles turned white. As if she was worried about him… As if she cared for him… 

_ Well, fuck that. _

“No, I’m bloody  _ not  _ all right,” he said, training his voice to be as cold and unflinching as metal iced over. “I’m trying to wrap this fucking present, but, see… I’m shite at wrapping things, and my partner knew that, and had been helping with that for the past two years, but she up and left me, so I’ve been trying to figure it out  _ myself _ . Then I kept thinking this present was  _ for  _ my former partner, which only aggravated the situation more, and now here we are!!” 

He made certain to end his miniature tirade with a sweeping gesture of frustration at the accumulated mess over his desk, just to make it abundantly clear how annoyed he actually was. 

Because he was  _ only  _ annoyed in this moment, he couldn’t reveal how hurt he truly was. Not when he’d been wrong all along, and he’d been about to make a fool of himself all over again for the likes of Cho Chang. 

Her smile was genuine, but small. He would hazard a guess to say even a touch nervous, but what did Harry know about witches and their feelings after all? 

(Harry approved answers include: ‘jack shite’, ‘sod all’, ‘not a bloody thing’ and ‘fuck no’.) 

But Cho was still smiling, now making her way to his desk, her hair gathered in that long, dark, silken braid that did things to Harry… And he could feel his icy edge melting… Could sense the shift of thoughts and emotions in his person… Could tell he needed to get a buggering grip before he did something stupid like ask if he could bend her over the desk, or shove her against the wall, begging for ‘just this once’…

But Harry wasn’t interested in a one off with Cho. They’d been partners for fuck’s sake, which meant she probably knew him at least as well as Ron by now. Hell, maybe even more so.

She was still smiling when she reached his desk. “Mind if I help you out?” 

“Suppose not,” he ground out, giving an angry wave over the chaos of his desk once more, flopping back into his chair to create more space between them. “It’s not like you haven’t wrapped your own Christmas presents from me before, but that’s usually after I’ve made a decent attempt, and you take such pity on the sad parcel that you pretty it up.”

Her eyes bored into his as he spoke, and his mouth turned to sand. 

It was impossible to swallow, but he still tried, so he could attempt to get out what  _ had  _ to follow next. “Not that I ever minded, of course. You really are better at this than me, and it was always endearing you coming behind and trying to make me seem better or more talented than I really am.”

She was impossibly still in the following seconds… Perhaps minutes… Maybe even years? Harry could never and would never be sure of the amount of time that passed in silence between them.

Cho was a Ravenclaw through and through, which meant she was careful, methodical, thorough with calculating every possible outcome before acting a fool of herself as Harry often did with his brash Gryffindor tendencies, and—

It was suddenly all a confusing blur.

With two succinct and consecutive  _ pops,  _ Cho went from the far side of the desk to Harry’s side of the desk, the  _ safe zone _ , her hands pressed just above Harry’s knees as she bent down and kissed him.

On the mouth.

His former partner, Cho, was currently kissing  _ him _ .

And not in a way that could be mistaken as something timid or uncertain. The firm press of her lips and the angle at which they slanted over his spoke of intention and preconceived thought. 

And fuck it all, the last vestiges of Harry’s ire and anger melted away. 

He was up from his seat in a flash, winding an arm around her petite waist, yanking her to his chest as his other hand dug up into her thick tresses, getting lost in her loose plait. 

There were moans, sighs, approving hums, and sounds of smacking, and admittedly sloppy snogging, but Harry didn’t care. Not one bit. 

In fact, he was highly put out when Cho was the one to pull away… when she’d been the one starting what might’ve arguably been the best first snog of his life (and there had been quite a few… Saviour of wizarding kind and all…). 

“I think you… Shite, Harry that feels so  _ nice _ …” She tilted her neck back, revealing more surface area for him to attack with his lips, while it seemed she had something to say… Another breathy moan sounded before she gave a thick swallow and made another attempt at speaking. “Partners can’t date. Against…  _ ohhhhhh _ … Against policy.’’

His lips stilled and his eyes flew to hers, searching, needing to know that he hadn’t just misheard her. “Come again?” he croaked. 

She arched into him, grinding herself against all that was sensitive, taught, and now very hard. He shivered and she chuckled, nipping his ear. “It’s against policy for partners to date—I went to Robards and then head of Personnel Resources myself, but there were no exceptions, so I asked for a transfer. 

“Well, why didn’t you…?” Harry blinked several times in rapid succession, forcing himself to keep up with this sudden change of events. “You mean that you… That you and I couldn’t as long as… Why in Merlin’s name didn’t you say anything?”

“I wasn’t absolutely certain you wanted this also,” she admitted with what appeared to be a chastising shake of her head. “We got on so well together, and I thought I was reading moments, but you never brought anything up, and even went so far as to avoid the annual Yule Balls. I was playing cautious.” 

He snorted at that. “Until you didn’t and went and asked for a different partner without talking about it with me first.”

“Right…” Her smile turned sheepish, and he almost felt sorry for bringing it up, but she lifted herself to the tips of toes again, brushing her lips against his and he was gone. 

Absolutely gone.

And not complaining about it at all, because per Cho’s request, he proceeded to fuck her into the wall after all the necessary locking, silencing, and birth control charms had been cast, after agreeing they’d talk more while wrapping presents back at his flat later that night. 


	12. Hermione and James non-Voldy AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For QinTalon and mrsren and LadyKenz347. Enjoy your Jamione AU my friends <3

* * *

“Don’t be such a berk about it, Moony. Padfoot most certainly did  _ not  _ have nefarious intentions in mind when drinking the last of your Earl Grey this mor—”

James was unable to complete the sentence that he’d intended to be soothing and mediating between his two best friends—because,  _ Merlin _ , could Sirius and Remus fight—but he was cut off by something taking firm hold of his arm. Whirling him around, a hand curled around his neck, and pulled him down as a pair of lips crashed into his. 

His eyes widened as everything in him froze solid as if he’d been stunned by a  _ Stupefy.  _

He was being kissed. 

He was being  _ kissed. _

_ He  _ was being  _ kissed _ . 

He hadn’t been kissed since Lily, and that hardly counted, because the last time lips had brushed against his, it had been in a sad sort of way that tasted of goodbye and regret.

Definitely not like  _ this­ _ —like desperation and need. 

There was no way of determining how long he’d been standing like a deer caught in a  _ Lumos _ , but when he decided the kiss wasn’t ending, it was in his best interest to take a quick, but thorough (Auror, after all) stock of the situation: the fingers still firm around his neck were slender and soft, and there was a delectable tenderness to how they played with the hairs at the nape of his neck. The hair tickling at his nose was chestnut brown, and curly—not  _ styled  _ curly as Lily used to attempt on occasion, but wild and completely natural. And the body pressing into him was lush, supple, and curvy… 

Definitely a ‘she’. 

And  _ she  _ was  _ still  _ kissing him. Her angle had altered a bit, for a deeper press, even as his glasses began to slide down his nose.

So, being the Pureblood gentleman and chivalrous Gryffindor James had been raised to be, not denying a lady anything she needed from him, he wound his arms around the witch and responded. 

_ Eagerly. _

One of his arms lingered in the middle of her back while the other travelled up, tracing up her spine before cradling the base of her head while his fingers wound and tangled themselves in her curls. 

His mouth on hers now moved, but it was  _ her  _ tongue that ventured up, teasing the seam of lips, and Merlin’s purple robes, he  _ groaned.  _ This was now a full-blown snog and nothing else in the world existed beyond this. Nothing beyond lips, tongue, curves, curls, approving hums, contented sighs… and finding a bloody wall he could press her up against and lavish special attention to this  _ luscious  _ feeling neck… Or let  _ her  _ cage him, grind this perfect body he was quickly becoming acquainted with (and would like to become even more so) against  _ his _ , and—

“ _ Mate!” _

Bollocks it all, but someone was hissing at him, and bloody  _ tapping him on the shoulder _ , which was a general sign the exquisite moment needed to come to an end. 

It was with great reluctance that James slowed his movements, hushing and lulling this beautiful moment to a teasing and lingering dance of lips, before pulling back completely. His arms dropped as he placed one final kiss on the freckle-dotted nose of his mystery witch.

He took a long step back, adjusting his glasses as he took her in, more like  _ drank  _ her in, because the first thing he noted was that she was probably the most beautiful woman in the world, which was something he’d once thought of Lily, and that would never  _ not  _ be true, mother of his child, but history and all that now… 

The second thing that registered in his mind was that the witch hadn’t moved and she was blinking at him, doe-eyes bulging in what could be shock, horror, fear, embarrassment, or any combination of all the aforementioned. A mild chill shot through James when he thought that this could have been Sirius’ idea of a bad joke after his prodding of James to ‘get back out there’ last week. Well, if that was all this had been,  _ none  _ of what just transpired was on James, he would argue that to his dying day. 

Snog-swollen lips parted, and the witch sucked a sharp breath. “You’re… you’re not Remus.” 

A choking sound came from James’ left, where he presumed Remus still stood, but there was no time to process or respond as a new person entered his line of vision—a wizard scratching his neck, cheeks bright red, round frames falling down his nose that he promptly shoved back up to their rightful place. 

Amos Diggory.

James stifled a growl in the back of his throat.

There was nothing  _ wrong  _ with Amos, per se. Other than he remained a too-nice-to-be-trusted Hufflepuff all these years after school—case in point, Amos’ wife passed away in childbirth with their son, which James thoroughly empathised with, but Amos wasted no time in sending  _ Lily  _ a large bouquet of condolence roses not even a week after the finalisation of the Potter-Evans divorce… Or so James had heard from Sirius, who’d heard from Marlene.

“Ah…” The Puff twat scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor, clearing his throat. “I hadn’t realised you were already seeing someone, Miss Granger,” he said, looking rather sheepish. “I’ll, umm, that is to say I apologise for my presumption.” 

“Not at all.” The witch— _ Miss Granger _ —smoothed her hands over her skirt, squaring her shoulders as her gaze darted between James, then Remus, then finally to Amos himself. “It’s, ah… Well, it’s a more recent development, and…” Remus coughed into his hands while James cut his eyes at his friend, filled with a sudden need to protect and defend this mystery witch. 

“Quite recent indeed, my dear,” he boomed, closing the gap between himself and ‘Miss Granger,’ slipping his hand innocently in hers. She stiffened instantly, her brows shooting to her hairline as he slid behind a mask of cool composure and winked,  _ bloody winked _ , at her. Squeezing her hand, eyes decidedly not leaving hers, he said, “No hard feelings then, eh, Amos?” 

What followed was some sputtering and other nervous sounds that reminded James of  _ fucking  _ Pettigrew when he would do that nervous chittering in his rat form—but no more thoughts of former-friend Wormy and his plays on Lily while she’d still been a married witch… At least, not while his eyes bored into this lovely witch’s at his side. Not when he noticed flecks of cinnamon and gold reflecting in those chocolate-brown irises.

Not when he  _ felt  _ the hitch of her breath… 

And the  _ thunk  _ in his own heart, something slipping into place that’d been missing for a long time. 

“Well, I’ll be off then.” Another cough, and James had forgotten about Amos entirely. “Good day, then, Miss Granger.” 

_ Good riddance,  _ James thought, keen to tell the rest of the day to kindly go hang, thank you very much. There was a Miss Granger to become better acquainted with now, and—

“Thank you for that.” Miss Granger was unfortunately and regrettably pulling her hand from his and taking several steps away. “I’m sorry for… for putting you in that position. I thought that you were… That is… Never mind… It was terribly uncouth of me, but I’d run out of ways of letting him down gently, and I really thought you were…” She trailed off, those arresting eyes looking beyond him to Remus, then back to him. A dusting of deep pink flooded her cheeks, and she shook her head. “I thought you were a friend who could help… Sorry. I’m really sorry, but  _ thankyousomuchagain!” _

She darted off, turning on her heel as she finished her sentence, so James couldn’t be entirely certain what she said. 

He looked back to Remus, a brow quirked in question and silent demanding of whatever explanation his friend could offer. 

Remus was laughing now, slipping his hands in the pockets of his robes like the smug sod he could sometimes be. “She’s a British born witch who moved to France when she was underage and went to school at Beauxbatons. They’ve always returned to the Chelsea area for Christmas holidays and a few weeks out of every summer, so she’d made up her mind to come back here to work once she had some experience behind her.” 

James nodded, making sure everything was sinking in. “And she’s—” 

“Never been married,” Remus cut-in, jerking his face in Hermione’s direction. “Quite single. Works in the archives, I’ve met her a few times when filing back-dated paperwork, and no, I haven’t had any intention of asking her out, because there’s still a Jean Brockl—”

Enough. James had heard enough, or rather, had heard enough for now. He was sure there’d be more to this story come this evening over dinner with the lads and Harry, but he had a witch to catch.

“Granger!” he called out, not caring at all if Amos was lurking about in the shadows somewhere. When the witch continued two more steps, he hurried his stride, almost yelling for her again, which broke no less than three rules of conduct and decorum—again, he couldn’t be bothered to give a solid fuck. 

Especially not when she faltered, then stopped completely, slowly turning to face him, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Look, I’m sorry, for what I… I don’t even know if you’re married or not, and I’m—” 

“I’m not,” James supplied, proffering his hand. “Married that is. I’m not married. I’m Remus’ friend, James Potter, and I’m two years divorced with a four-year-old son. I haven’t been on a first date since my seventh year, and that was with my ex-wife. I was just coming back from lunch with Remus there—” He shifted, pointing back to Remus who responded with a grin and a wave (James made a mental note to flip him off later), then looking back to the witch whose hand he was still holding. “But I’ve plenty of time for a cuppa tea in the lovely little shop across the street if you’d like.” 

Her lips parted in a silent ‘O’.

Shooting off mental flares that he was about to be rejected… 

“We can go over the particulars of this relationship,” he blurted, wincing, but resolved as he took a step closer. “I mean… that is to say… No telling how much longer Amos may try to hover… And, I think…” He faltered suddenly, a lump forming in his throat. Merlin, it’d just been so long since he’d done this. “Well, I think you’re very pretty, Miss Granger—” 

“Hermione,” she murmured, looking from their still joined hands to his lips, then his eyes. “I’m Hermione Granger, but I prefer just Hermione.”

“Hermione, then.” James smiled. “What do you say? One cup. Some light pleasantries and a game plan to keep Amos from skulking…?” 

She giggled, her head bobbing as her stance shifted. “Sounds perfect.” 

A dismissive wave to Remus later, and James and Hermione were making their way across the atrium towards the doors that lead to said tea shop… And whatever else the future might bring. James couldn’t be certain, but considering Hermione had made no move to withdraw her hand as they walked, it was safe to say he had a very good feeling about the rest of the day.

Maybe even the rest of his life… 


	13. Hermione and Theo--war time AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For ravenslight

* * *

He was leaving. 

He was  _ leaving.  _

Robes billowing as he marched decidedly (read: arrogantly swaggered) from the room. 

Eyes wide, Hermione looked from Harry, to Ron, to Luna, then Neville, and back to Harry… And ran from the room, bursting through the door. 

“Theo!"

He stopped. Then turned, and Circe and all the Founders but she hated that shite-eating smirk already teasing at the corners of his lips. “Yes, Princess?”

“Theo, you can’t leave.” She stalked up to him, ignoring the way he used that nickname for her that she absolutely  _ loathed _ . 

Blue eyes flashed under dark, perfect, and dreamy eyebrows, and it was almost enough to steal her breathe…  _ Almost _ . Because then he spoke: “I can and I am.” Short and clipped, which was utterly unheard of from this usually loquacious prig… 

“But you… you  _ can’t _ ,” she sputtered, taking a step closer as two wizards scurried around her. “You can’t leave the Order. Not now. Not when… Theo we need you.” 

“ _ We  _ need…?” A Medi-Witch slipped between them, a ‘so sorry, pardon me’ floating to Hermione’s ears. Theo quirked a brow, moving back into close (read: dangerous) proximity to Hermione. “What you about  _ you  _ needing me, hmmm?” 

_ The twat _ … She wasn’t sorry in the slightest for the scoff that fell from her lips. “ _ Me _ …? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

A hum that sounded rather condescending rumbled from the wizard as he rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t,” he said, eyes dropping to her puckered mouth for a moment too long enough to have Hermione’s blood thundering in her head… Mind racing with possibilities…

When he suddenly turned on his heel and resumed marching. Right for the Apparition point. 

_ No. It couldn’t just… end here. Not like this. _

“And what precisely am I supposed to know?” She didn’t care that she was yelling. Didn’t care that she was drawing far too much attention to herself and them… He couldn’t leave! 

“Come on, love,” he answered, not stopping, not even  _ pausing _ … “You want me to stay because of the way you feel about me.”

“Yes! You’re a great help to us. I’ve never denied that.” Merlin, he was walking too fast, and he understood her protesting completely, so why wasn’t he stopping?! “We don’t care about your past, Theo. You’re a natural leader, and well-versed in the strategies of our enemy, and—”

_ “No, _ that’s not it.” Just like that, he was there. He’d halted completely, whirling around and looming over her, gaze deep and searching. Her lips parted of their own accord, and something that felt like victory glinted in his eyes as he brushed his knuckles over her cheek, a burning chill shooting down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold of winter or the warmth of the base. “Come on, Hermione. You’re smarter than this, and certainly better than petty denial.”

Realisation crashed into as a  _ Stupefy _ —consuming, controlling, and seizing every muscle in her body: he was right. He was bloody  _ right _ … But there was a war, and love and war were never a good combination. 

So, she drew a fortifying breath and told him, calm and firm, “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I, then?” He drew impossibly closer, iridescent blue eyes boring into hers. “Tell me why you followed me. Why you chased me down the length of the main tent. Afraid I would leave without giving you a goodbye kiss?”

Her stomach dipped at the thought of those full lips pillowing over hers, which made it all the more difficult to force the space between her nose to crinkle in an attempt of disgust. “I’d just as soon as kiss a hippogriff, Theodore Nott.”

His chuckle was dark. “Perhaps I’ll just have to arrange that, Hermione.” Her name was a silken caress, a purr that made her want to curl up into his arms and never leave… “Perhaps you could use a proper kiss.” 

“No.” She shook her head, throat bobbing as she attempted to swallow the ridiculous lump that’d formed in no time at all. “No, I… we just  _ can’t _ —” 

“Can’t?” He was close, so close now, lips hovering dangerously over hers, and she could smell parchment, ink, and a hint of tea leaves from the pot he’d drained less than an hour ago. “Can’t what, love?

She bit down on her bottom lip, forbidding her mouth to say or do anything she’d only regret later, refusing to step away all the while…

So, it was fitting that it was Theo who broke the moment, his chuckle turning sad as he backed away, all three long strides to the Apparition point. “Goodbye, Hermione.” He blew her a kiss, and then he was gone. 

Gone. 

Gone. 

_ Gone. _

Leaving Hermione with nothing more to do than submit to the weakness in her knees and sink to the floor; her heart thundering and aching with an emptiness. And she knew she had no one to blame but herself. 


	14. Blaise and Luna--post Hogwarts, canon compliant

* * *

If Blaise Zabini had been born a muggle or a squib, winter would truly be the most abhorrent of seasons. Melting snow ruining exemplary clothing and footwear, constant general signs of compromised immune systems with coughs, sniffles, and the shrill sounds of noses being blown into cloth germ incubators… Only to be refolded and replaced back in one’s pocket for further use. 

Disgusting, really. 

As it was, though, he had magic, and therefore, made excellent use of everyday necessities charms, imbuing every last layer of clothing and outerwear with specialised, combined moisture repelling and warming charms. 

Snow freckled the air around him as he stalked through the bustling cobblestone sidewalk to his favourite coffee house in wizarding Brussels, collected over Blaise’s winter hat, shoulders, and the sleeves of his coat, but that was neither here nor there. 

All that truly mattered was delighting himself over the next hour-and-a-half exactly with an espresso, a croissant, and his latest purchase from the charming bookstore around the corner that had served his family for decades… 

_ The simple pleasures of life _ , Blaise silently mused as he seated himself at a table off to the side of the establishment and placed his order with an aging, but quite buxom, waitress. His mother was far, far away with her latest lover in one of their villas in Italy. Draco and Theo were in the throes of monogamous bliss with their respect partners, and Blaise was free to roam the world as he saw fit. 

Unencumbered, unfettered, and utterly anonymous unless he wanted otherwise. 

“Blaise?”

_ Or so he’d presumed _ … 

His grip tightened on his book as he continued reading another two sentences… Alerting the speaker to the fact he was neither amused nor excited by this interruption to his day… 

But when his eyes at last lifted from the pages of fine print, it was all he could do to hold the damn thing steady in his hand. 

“Luna,” he clipped, but it was all a façade.

He’d tried to forget about her. Tried to convince himself it was long over and he should move on. He’d seen her cosying up with fucking Longbottom at a quiet pub in London not even a month after the war… Even now, he tried to convince himself that had been years ago… 

But she was smiling at him, and it was like the sun beaming just for him, as it had been that year… 

And he already knew how thoroughly fucked he was. 

“Why do you keep running, Blaise?” Her smile had turned sad, and even so, she was still a vision in a patchwork conglomeration of colours and fabrics. Her long, pale blonde tresses spilled around her shoulders, framing her face while her eyes bore unblinking into his. “They miss you at home, you know. This is the fifth Christmas in a row now.” 

“They’ve all got each other,” he sniffed, an airy wave of his hand given to convey a degree of flippancy, not that Luna ever fell for his stoic façade. “And besides, aren’t you supposed to be home as well? Getting all set to be engaged, or have you and Longbottom already tied the knot?” 

Two blinks. A curious tilt of her head. “I haven’t been with Neville in years, actually.”  _ That was news to him _ … Had he truly been so out of touch? She continued: “There was a thing with Charlie more recently, but our auras were more compatible for physical pleasures and we had little in common outside of dragons and sex.” 

Salazar help him, but the book truly almost fell from his grasp that time. Clearing his throat, he waved over the empty chair across from him. “Would you care to have a seat and we can discuss all your many adventures over the last few years in more detail, then?” 

“I can’t.” She was shaking her head and he was determined she would not be able to suspect any ounce of disappointment from his person… “Not right now, at least,” she added and he loathed that something warm and bright bloomed in his chest all the while. “But, perhaps you’d be free to stop by for drinks at the lounge of my hotel this evening at seven?” 

Drinks. With Luna. At her hotel. 

He worked with all his might to reign himself in, but it was so damn  _ hard _ , especially when, with a graceful flourish, Luna conjured a parchment with the name and address, slipping it into his free hand as she bent down and pressed her cheek to his, humming in his ear she’d missed him. 

And then she was gone. No longer in the shop… Had she even ordered anything? Blaise blinked down at his book, eyes sliding from there, to the parchment, then back to the book. 

Oh, yes. He was thoroughly fucked.  _ Again _ .


	15. Remus and Tonks--they live AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for my darling LadyKenz347. because I am so excited to write a full on Remus and Tonks <3

* * *

A lazy tickle of a thought brushed against his mind...  It was dark still, and Remus was awake enough to  _ know  _ it had to be early… or perhaps simply late… 

“ _ Mate?”  _ Moony hummed in question, which Remus took as a cue to roll over and stretch out his hand over his wife’s space… Finding nothing but cooling sheets and pillowcase. 

“ _ Pup?! Mate?!”  _ Moony was alert now, perched at full attention, and there’d be no peace until Remus left the warm cocoon of blankets to check on Dora and Teddy. 

His feet protested the cold of the air immediately, bones aching and groaning as he muttered summoning spells for his woollen socks, slippers, and robe. “We do this every night, old boy,” he groused, keeping his voice low. “And I’m not as young as you seem to think we are.” 

“ _ Don’t care. Check. _ ” 

“You should trust your mate more,” Remus retorted, taking up his wand from his bedside table and padding from the room. “Dora says a regression into more night feedings is normal while teething. There’s nothing to be worried over.” 

Moony whimpered still as Remus cast a small  _ Lumos _ , urging the wizard onward. It’d a useless cause to keep talking in any attempt to soothe the wolf, so Remus didn’t. This was now the fifth time in a row he’d awakened at some unknown hour of the night and was forced from the bed to double check that all was well by his overly protective wolf. 

In another life, Remus might have fought Moony harder over this. Teething, nursing, night feeds… It was all the normal flow of things according to Andromeda and Teddy’s healer.

But no sense in begrudging the past for existing when he wasn’t fully awake enough to reason beyond Moony’s overpowering instincts—a necessary philosophy to live by for the sake of his sanity. Especially when the request was honestly something as easy and quick as a brief walk to the living room should Teddy’s room be empty… As it so happened to be this morning…

To the living room he went then, blinking rapidly several times, forcing himself to be more awake than he felt. It seemed a shame to pass by the impressive display of Christmas decorations without fully appreciating them—the garland, twinkle lights, and tinsel, and how Dora had spent hours draping and hanging them all about the house… What all this physical manifestation of celebration especially represented this year… 

“ _ Mate _ …  _ Pup _ …” A soothing hum blanketed over Remus’ mind, warm and consuming and infectious, spreading across his entire being as a thick blanket of contentment. 

Dora had nestled herself and their nine-month-old son into a leather muggle recliner, a blanket spread over the raised legrest, but even from here, Remus could tell his wife had curled her legs under her—something about it giving Teddy “a better angle while nursing.” Mother and child were sprawled out, taking up the rest of the seat well enough though: Dora’s head hanging over the arm of the chair while Teddy’s arm dangled in the space between the armrest and legrest…

Moony continued to hum and coo, calm in the knowledge his pack was safe, and asleep— _ though hardly comfortable _ , Remus added silently. 

He hesitated only a moment, debating if he should extinguish his small light, but decided maintaining the spell was worth the risk of waking Teddy over startling-slash-scaring the living shite of Dora… 

His knees cried out in protest as he bent down beside the chair, but Moony snapped and barked, seizing more control of Remus’ muscles, nodding in approval as Remus threaded his fingers through Dora’s bubble-gum pink locks and pressed a kiss to her temple. 

“Love?” Her voice croaked from exhausted dedication and the chill in the room, and Remus knew he would always cherish it as one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. “’M’sorry… I meant to come back, but we must have…” 

She trailed off and he couldn’t help the chuckle as he kissed her cheek this time.

“Nothing to apologise for,” he whispered, as if they were sharing the most important of secrets. “Your side of the bed was still warm, so I can’t imagine you’ve been gone too long.” 

“Not long enough then.” She kept her voice low as she shifted. Righting her posture, she blinked and squinted at their son, cradling him into a more comfortable hold. “I didn’t get the chance to switch sides before we both fell back asleep, and I can feel the lop-sidedness now.” 

“Sorry, love.” He laid his wand on the carpeted floor, freeing him to rest both hands over her shoulders, attempting for a mini-massage.

Which must have been the right thing to do; Dora’s eyes fluttered shut instantly, a soft moan falling from her lips. “’S’alright. I shouldn’t complain. There are worse things to feel.” 

He chuckled in spite of himself. Wartime humour helped and hindered the moment, depending on the situation, but it fit this moment. It fit this phase of less sleep and more hovering comfort and attention dedicated to their son…

“We’re alive, Dora,” he marvelled, quite unable to help himself. “Alive for Teddy’s first Christmas.” 

The miracle of it all washed over him, crashing against every thought and emotion he could fathom or summon, stealing his breath, rendering anything impossible. His hands stilled over his wife’s shoulders, and he felt her hair and nose brush against his wrist before she took one of his hands in hers, lacing her fingers through the spaces between his. 

“Astounding, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” A thick swallow ached down his throat as his body sagged into the chair, his arm dropping and searching until it wrapped possessively around Dora’s waist, Moony curling into a happy ball as his mate leaned into his touch. 

They sat in silence for a very long time, until they’d each drifted off back to sleep. It was not a comfortable position by any means, and his entire body seemed to protest every little movement greatly all day long, but Remus couldn’t be bothered to complain. 

He was alive. He’d spent half the night with his wife wrapped in his arms, and had been greeted Christmas morning with a swift kick in the nose by his baby boy. 

He couldn’t have asked for anything more. 


	16. Sirius and Hermione and mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A non-Voldemort AU Sirius and Hermione for LadyKenz347

* * *

It was official: Christmas was the worst. 

It was all bollocks and happy couples, completed families, sugar-hyped toddlers and children laughing, squealing, and scurrying about everywhere… not that this Christmas was anything different from what she’d experienced in years past. She’d come to expect the sting of loneliness that would flare and throb at any given point throughout the Potter-Weasley-Lupin-Tonks-Black-Granger Christmas Eve dinner and celebration, but this year… 

This year was just as bad as last year. And the year before. 

Because of one Sirius Orion Black. 

Hermione hadn’t met Harry’s godfather all seven years through Hogwarts—although apparently he’d made an appearance at the odd Quidditch match here and there that Hermione had opted out in favour of exam preparation in the library—but she’d heard the stories. 

Stories of this Auror for hire who was a brilliant asset to the International Magical Cooperation of Law Enforcement. Stories of how he’d spent a month of injury leave with the Lupin family the fall of Hermione and Harry’s sixth year, and how he’d tried to teach little Teddy to call Professor Lupin “Moony.” Stories of the “just the lads” adventures he, Harry, and James would all take off on for two weeks every summer.

So many stories it seemed impossible such a man could live up to any of them…

The stars at last aligned for Hermione to meet the wizard himself at Harry’s very first professional Quidditch game as starting Seeker. Two hours and fifty-two minutes of sharing bench space with Sirius, laughing at his jokes, telling him all about herself, learning a great deal about him, and admiring his easy demeanor with literally everyone in their group (from still shy and introverted Neville to stodgy Percy), and Hermione felt in her bones that he absolutely  _ could  _ and  _ did _ . 

He was everything she’d always heard and  _ more _ …

Five years, seven months, and twenty-five days later and Sirius was still the sun to the planet of her affections.

She was beyond the point of denying it to herself, though, if anyone ever asked about her romantic life, or lack thereof—and they always did—Hermione said she was happily contented with her recent promotion at St. Mungo’s, thank you very much. 

But…

_ But… _

Alone with her own thoughts, she was woman enough to admit she’d been nursing this pathetic crush for a man nineteen years her senior for far too long, and that nothing would ever come of it—because it  _ was  _ pathetic. 

_ She  _ was pathetic. Sirius was the sort who could make friends of a solid brick wall, so there was nothing special in his paying any sort of attention to her… 

He was merely acting out of that lovely, yet near antiquated Pureblooded decorum and code of honour when he performed chivalrous acts like pulling out her chair or holding the door and letting her enter or leave a room first. It was all in her imagination that she’d felt his fingers ghost over the small of her back when she’d pass by.

Nothing more than  _ friendship  _ when he peppered he with questions of her work, latest book-for-fun, or research project. 

It wasn’t as though their paths crossed all that often, even… Just the one monthly Quidditch match of Harry’s she was able to attend. And in passing at the Ministry when she met Luna for lunch. And the occasional dinner at the Lupin household when she delivered Remus’ supply of Wolfsbane directly from the hospital’s apothecary. 

And it was pure happenstance he’d begun to frequent the tea room across the street from St. Mungo’s; the one she mentioned in passing that she’d started spending her evenings at with a new book, reading or researching under the comforting hum of customers ordering, bustling, and catching up with their own companions…

A clap of realisation burst through Hermione, causing her to straighten against the wall she’d been leaning against.  _ It couldn’t be… It just couldn’t _ —

“Something on your mind, Hermione?”

The wizard himself. She blinked wordlessly at him, pieces to a previously scattered puzzle falling into place before her eyes, even as her heart screamed at her for daring to hope after all this time.

_ Five years, seven months, and twenty-five days. _

Her lips parted, but she could force no answer because Sirius’ keen grey eyes, iridescent under the golden sconce lighting of the empty hallway, were fixed on her. On  _ all  _ of her… 

Until his gaze landed finally on her lips... Then her eyes… Then back to her lips. 

And then he was  _ there:  _ his shoes bumping against hers, his knuckles ghosting over her arms as his breath hitched. 

“Tell me to back away, love.” 

“Why?” 

Never had two voices sounded so choked, brimming with unspoken emotion to Hermione’s ears… And, for a moment, she wasn’t entirely sure she believed this was happening. It was something of fantasies, something of books and dreams… Not real like to thirty-year old single Healers married to their work and considering purchasing a cat come the new year… 

His face dipped, and he was impossibly closer. Close enough to smell the delicious scents of leather, musk, clove, and parchment that she’d come to identify as everything Sirius… “Because I’ve got something on my mind,” he purred, his eyes lifting and brows waggling in a universal sign to look up. 

_ Mistletoe…  _ A sprig appeared from nowhere, of Sirius’ making. 

“You say the word and I’ll vanish it immediately.” 

Her heart thundered in her chest…  _ This couldn’t be…  _ “Why… why would you make it appear in the first place?” Godric, she sounded like an idiot, but she had to know…  _ Deserved  _ to know after all this time… 

His smile was the moon and all the constellations in the expanse above, and she could be content to soar there for all eternity.

“Because I can’t stop thinking of you,” he said. “I’ve been rearranging my entire life to bump into you everywhere for ages. To get to know you, and try to lay a foundation for more. Only, I’ve been a fool and a coward about it all because I’ve always been shite when it came to relationships, so I haven’t tried in forever. 

“But you…” His eyes roamed her face, hand cradling her cheek as he continued, “I consider you someone very special, Hermione. You’re quality, beautiful, and bloody brilliant, and while I’ve dreamed of snogging you breathless against walls in just about every room we’ve ever been in together, or under the bleachers of the Falcons stadium, I—” 

It was enough. She’d heard enough to  _ know _ … And that was all the confirmation required. 

A small stretch of her neck later, and her lips were on his, soft and gentle… 

Until he groaned into her touch, angling and slanting his lips over hers for a deeper hold. His hand slid up into her loose hair and wound around her curls while she wrapped her fingers around the lapels of his dinner jacket and pulled his chest flush against her. 

His tongue traced against the seam of her lips and the world became a faded blur of Sirius and lips and tongues and moans and sighs… And it was over far, far too soon. 

Sirius was panting as he slowly pulled away, hushing their kisses to an easy, lazy waltz. “Would you… Merlin, I can’t believe… Would you stay after everyone leaves?” 

_ Stay?! _

The word shot through her and suddenly she was a skittish sixth year, all hormones and nerves and inexperience… 

And Sirius must have seen it, because his lips lifted in a soft smile before they pressed to her cheek. “I’ve absolutely no expectations for anything tonight, love.” Another peck to her cheek before he leaned his forehead to hers. “Nothing more than private conversation on the sofa under a shared blanket while admiring the tree I spent ages decorating.” 

Well… That sounded manageable  _ and  _ doable _ …  _

Perfectly lovely even.

Which she whispered in the space between their lips, heart brimming. 

He gave a thick swallow, his head nodding against hers. “Good. Good, good, good, good, good.” She giggled and he chuckled, too. “I’ve that special blend of tea you order from the Spot of Tea, it’s surprisingly good, actually, and—“

“Sounds perfect, Sirius.” Her hands flattened over his chest, smoothing the wrinkles she’d caused out of his jacket. “The tea, the sofa, the tree gazing, the shared blanket, the talk… all of it. Keep snogging on the table and it sounds like the most wonderful Christmas Eve I’ll have had in a good while.” 

“Anything you want.  _ Anything _ . For as long as you’ll allow me to give it to you.”

It was all she’d wanted for the last five years, seven months, and twenty-five days come to life, and there was nothing left to do but kiss him once more, hard but far too brief. 

Because a loud crash came from the kitchen, followed by several yelps—laughter lancing the air between it all. 

She giggled as they parted while Sirius shook his head, winking as he slipped his hands in his pockets. “Ah me, a host’s work is never done.” 

They walked back to the kitchen together, everyone too distracted by the mess and cleanup to notice the beaming smile now spread across Hermione’s face. It didn’t leave for the duration of the night…

Christmas wasn’t complete bollocks after all.


	17. Bill and Fleur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what I imagine for a quiet Christmas morning for Bill and Fleur in the "Order of the Phoenix" timeline...

* * *

Bright light filtered through plain curtains as Bill blinked about his room, trying to gather his bearings. 

It was Christmas morning, and he was due at the Burrow any time now, but he couldn’t think beyond his room. 

And his bed. 

And the blonde witch occupying the space beside him in his bed. 

A very naked witch at that…

Magical beings hadn’t ever been his specialty, but he knew enough about Veela to know last night was only the beginning. 

Because he was  _ hers  _ and she was  _ his _ . 

Fleur could move in this very day for all he cared. Take over his hovel of a flat and make it all her own. Change the curtains to something flowery or blue or spattered with polka dots.

They could wait until after her internship at Gringotts before making it all proper and official with a proper marriage, but she’d called him  _ hers  _ last night, over and over again as their bodies collided and twined and tangled to a dance so ancient and sacred, it felt as if anything else was perfunctory. 

Bill smiled and burrowed deeper into the bed, nestling against his witch. His  _ mate. _

Best. Christmas. Ever. 


	18. Harry and Astoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post War Eighth Year

* * *

Pain. 

Life was pain. Quidditch was pain. 

The entire world ceased to exist in the consuming river of pain, and what in the name of Merlin’s saggy Y-fronts had Harry been  _ thinking _ when signing up for Gryffindor Quidditch his eighth and final year of Hogwarts?! 

He’d survived a war—hell, he’d come back from the  _ dead _ . He was entitled to one bloody injury-fee year, and his current predicament was all Hermione’s fault for telling Madam Pomfrey not to let him have the trial numbing potion with his Skele-Gro dose!

Bloody mother hen—he didn’t  _ care _ about potential side effects when in the throes of misery, and what would Hermione know of it because she’d never had to suffer through the vile concoction?! 

And while making a list of people to suffer his wrath when he was well enough, it was all bloody Ravenclaw’s fault! The lot of them! From Luna and her odd, peculiar as ever commentary on the game (which was nothing new, but Harry wasn’t used it anymore!), to the bloody unknown chaser whose name he hadn’t caught and jersey he couldn’t read from the back… 

And fucking  _ when _ and  _ why  _ had Hogwarts gone and changed so much in the year he’d been gone?! He hardly recognised anyone or anything anymore and kept getting bloody lost in this home he’d once known better than the back of his own hand, and—

“ _ Harry!”  _

A shriek yanked him from his bemoaning, forcing him to blink and focus across the room, all of which was nigh impossible in the throes of such agony, and where was his wand so he could jinx on—

All manner of complaint dissipated instantly as he took in the figure sprinting across the infirmary: witch, Ravenclaw blue and bronze jersey, dark hair gathered into a plait that flagged behind her, eyes… 

The witch stopped short at the end of his bed, her hands (delicate, cream-coloured, and perfect) curling around the iron rods at the foot of the bed. 

She was… beautiful. 

Chest heaving, as if she’d run all the way here from… from wherever she’d been. Cheeks flushed under a spatter of freckles, and eyes… 

Blue, but not like Ginny’s icy-blue. 

These were sea-blue and narrowed in what appeared to be concern—genuine concern, and not that teasing or jealous faux concern of Ginny’s… 

“Are you… are you all right?” The mystery witch had a lovely voice, and had it been anyone else, Harry would’ve snorted and thrown out some retort about how he bloody well was  _ not _ all right, and they obviously knew sod all of bone mending if they thought he’d already be ‘all right’… But there was something about this witch that stayed his tongue. 

“Fuck, no.”  _ Balls _ . He cringed and could have slapped himself upside the head as his visitor’s face fell, her entire being wilting before his eyes, actually, and it was absolutely crucial he dug himself from this hole he’d just fallen in. “That is to say, not at present. But according to Madam Pomfrey, I’ll be mended as if it never happened in a couple of hours.” 

“Good. Good, good.” Her head bobbed as her hands dropped from the bed, fingers lacing tightly together. “I can tell by the way you’re looking at me that you don’t know who I am, correct?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Right…” The witch brushed several fly-aways out of her eyes and smoothed her hands over her Quidditch attire. “I’m Daphne’s younger sister Astoria. Two years behind you lot… You actually helped me find a book for a homework assignment in the library my third year… But I guess that wouldn’t be something you’d remember…” 

The way she trailed off at the end, the way she drooped again, it made Harry quite sad he couldn’t place her in his memory here and now… But maybe he could still find a why to cheer her up, after all. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” he started, attempting a roguishly crooked grin, “I’m having a hard time remembering my own middle name at the moment.” 

“Okay…” She managed a fraction of a chuckle and Harry decided he liked the sound of it. That he would even like to hear a full on laugh from her sometime. “So, I waited until I knew Madam Pomfrey would be out for her weekly trip to the potions lab to restock her supply cabinet, because I needed to tell you in person how incredibly and utterly sorry I am for crashing into you.” 

“ _ You _ were the—”

“Guilty.” She appeared so stricken as she nodded, and Harry was filled with the inexplicable need to comfort her. To do whatever it would take to make her smile, make those fathomless blue eyes shine and sparkle… “Father never let me try out for the team before, but in the aftermath of… well, everything… he said I should seize every opportunity this year. Try new things and all that, and I always wanted to at least try out for my house team—never thought I’d make it, though. We’re desperate for players, you see, and I’m honestly pretty hopeless at it, and—” 

“I could train you!” The words were out of his mouth before he consciously considered all implications of said offer, but for now, he couldn’t give a fuck. Her eyes widened and he straightened in bed, screaming bones and all. “If you’d like, that is… We could meet up a few times a week for extra training drills and we could make sure your coach even placed you in the right position to begin with, and… Well, anyways, it was an idea.” 

It was magic, and there was no other way to describe it. As quickly as he’d watched her wither earlier, she was beaming now. 

Fucking beaming brighter that the sun. And blushing.

Beaming and blushing. 

And if he was going to be meeting up with her three times weekly, that hopefully meant more opportunities for beaming and blushing… 

Her answer was demure and contained enough. “I’d like that very much. Thank you, Harry.” 

And there wasn’t the time for anything more as the matron of Hogwarts burst back into her domain, shooing Harry’s visitor away under the pretense of him needing ‘quiet and rest while healing.’ 

But had she asked Harry, he would have argued this may have been the most pleasant encounter he’d had in a very long time.

And he was looking forward to the next one most ardently. 


	19. Theo and Luna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soulmate drabble for Hystaracal

* * *

Of all the bonds that existed in the magical world—werewolf and Veela mating bonds, magical being pack bonds, the bond of an Unbreakable vow, the Bond of Blood—the most finicky and elusive of all was the soulmate bond. 

It was never a guarantee to find your soulmate, for one. The conditions had to be just  _ so  _ for the bond to click into place: eyes had to meet at just the right moment under settings specific to the particular couple, and both had to have at least the openness of heart to accept the bond forming and sealing between the two. 

Having been thus educated, Theo’d always held out a secret hope for his soulmate. His mother had shared bits and pieces of when she’d seen hers and the bond threaded to life across the Great Hall… 

Perhaps she’d be alive today if she’d been allowed to marry  _ him _ … But would Theo still exist? Who could say for certain?

All that Theodore Nott knew with absolute surety at this precise moment in time, was that his eyes connected with the vivid pale blues of Luna Lovegood from across Platform Nine-and-Three Quarters on the blustery morning of September the first for the dreaded eighth year he’d been court-ordered to return for…

An otherwise invisible golden chord twisted and knotted between him and her…  _ her  _ and  _ him _ … 

She smiled and took the first step towards him...

And his life would never be the same.


	20. Theo and Daphne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for Kyonomiko

* * *

Theo was muttering under his breath, and he  _ knew  _ he was muttering under his breath. 

It was his very conscious decision to mutter to-do lists to himself. Or rehearse important conversations aloud—low enough so as not to draw too much attention to himself, but always just enough so his father would hear and  _ know _ precisely what was happening on the rare occasion father and son inhabited the same space. 

Which hadn’t been too often after Theo had started at Hogwarts, and now never happened as the fucker had secured himself a one-way ticket to Azkaban when joining up with the Dark Psychopath the second time—which had quite frankly been a stupid decision, as anyone with a brain at Hogwarts knew after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Never side against Potter and Co. 

Case in point, Draco and his minions had all sided with Umbridge while Theo had kept blissfully to himself for the year, spouting excuses of O.W.L.’s and ‘lack of ambition’… 

Reading everything under his breath and giving his father the metaphorical finger all the while. 

Today, however, was not a means of spiting his unaware and incarcerated father. Today was about cookies. And Daphne. 

Daphne Greengrass. 

Securing the hand-painted, holiday themed tin in his arms, he gulped a final breath and Disapparated from the kitchen and landed promptly at the Apparition point leading to a relatively newer series of wizarding flats in Chelsea. 

And the process of muttering began again, going somewhere as follows: “‘ _ Hey, Daph. Was already baking cookies and thought I’d bring you some _ .’ No, that’s stupid. Don’t shorten her name; that comes across as lazy… ‘ _ Hello Daphne. Lovely day for Christmas cookies, and I thought you’d enjoy some.’  _ Ugh… no…” 

And so it went as he strode down the cobblestone sidewalk, thinking nothing of the biting cold against his nose, cheeks, and ears. Over and over he rehearsed, wanting to get it right by the time he made it to Daphne’s building… 

Which he decided it mostly definitely  _ was _ as he glided up the stairs to her front door. He beamed as he rang her doorbell, secure in the knowledge that this had been practiced to perfection. 

“Be with you in a minute!” he heard through the barrier of a white-painted door, followed by the sound of things being loudly moved or shoved about. A smile broke across his face as he imagined what could be happening in there. Of Daphne—lovely, wonderful, ingenious Daphne—bringing order to things in disarray, because that’s who she was and the heart of what she did. 

She saw everything in everyone, and offered compassion unconditionally. She acknowledged the brokenness, chaos, and disaster in lives, and stood faithfully by as the broken pieces came together to make a new whole. She was laughter, hope, and everything he wanted to believe in and hold onto in life…

And he’d been a bloody fool for taking this long to approach her for something beyond friendship. 

_ Everything changes tonight _ , he silently vowed again. For better or worse, the cookies and the party were for making a change. 

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting— _ oh _ !” The door yanked open from the inside, revealing one Daphne Greengrass in simple denims tucked into knee-high fuzzy socks, an oversized dark-green jumper, and her blonde locks gathered back in a bun with several flyaways framing her face.  _ She’s fucking beautiful _ … The witch smiled, tucking several strands of hair behind her ear. “Hello, Theo. This is unexpected.” 

“Apologies for not checking first,” he started, feeling confident in that sentiment. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important…” 

“Not at all—come in, come in.” 

She opened the door wider, and as much as he wanted to cross the threshold, to feel welcome in her space, in her  _ home,  _ that wasn’t part of the plan. 

For now at least. 

With that in mind, he shook his head, grinning and proffering the snow-covered cabin painted tin. “Afraid I can’t today, party preparations and all. I had a spare moment between things and thought you might like some ginger biscuits. They pair brilliantly with a strong cuppa on cold days like today.” 

“Oh. Thank you…” She accepted the tin, licking her lips, eyes darting from him, back to the tin, before lifting to him again… Alerting him something was apparently and decidedly  _ off _ . He’d expected a tad more enthusiasm after all. “Aren’t we… Sorry… I’m a bit confused I think.” 

“Confused?”  _ Not fucking according to plan AT ALLLLLLL! _

“Yes. Are these not from one of the batches we’ll be having at the party tonight?” 

He blinked once. Twice… “That is correct.” 

“But… you’re bringing me some now…?” 

“Yes.” Another blink, still failing still to see the source of confusion. 

She bit down on her lip and shook her head. “Sorry, I’m still just… Are you wanting me to sample one to tell you if the recipe is all right?” 

“What?!?” 

He couldn’t help but sputter, and she looked rather sheepish, which only served to sink this visit further in a direction he’d not anticipated—and he’d bloody rehearsed every possible outcome ahead of time! 

“Sorry!” She was apologising again and he could kick himself right now, but she kept talking before he could get a word in: “You’re bringing me biscuits from a batch we’re having tonight, and I can’t figure out why other than you needed a decent taste-tester or something, and I’m sorry! I feel I’ve missed something important or done something horribly wrong!” 

“Daphne,” he said, reaching out and cradling her elbow in the loosest of holds. “I’m going to make this quick because your nose is turning red from the cold and I had a plan for how suave and mysterious I’d be with this, but that’s apparently what I get for trying to have everything worked out in advance.” 

“…You had a plan…?” 

A sharp nod. “Indeed, my lady. You see, I’d hoped this could be a small gesture of me thinking of you, and something you could have about the flat for the next week or so, depending on how long it takes you to eat through them—and each time you reached for one, you’d think of me.” 

“I would, would I?” The corner of her mouth quirked ever so slightly, but it birthed a spark of hope in his chest. 

“You would. Couple that with the fact that my plan included speaking to you of the possibility of us having a date, at some point in the near future—brunch tomorrow, for instance—and that date would lead to another, which would lead to another, and another…” 

He was rambling now, but couldn’t be bothered to care. The plan had already been blown to shite anyways. 

“And at some point amidst all these dates, I’d admit to you how much I fancy you and would very much like the opportunity to court you proper—“

“Theo…”

“—And you’d be the only witch in my life, and perhaps I’d be the only wizard in your life, and perhaps—“ 

“ _ Theo _ …” 

“—we could work our way from ‘just friends’ to something romantic, and—“ 

He was silenced, and he was deceased. Heart seized, never to recover fully again, he processed that it was Daphne’s lips pressed against his in the gentlest of kisses (and at the most awkward angle imaginable) silencing him at last. 

But before he could react, before he could move to cup her cheek, or slide his other arm to the small of her back… Before he could debate with himself if he should hang his botched plan, cross the threshold of her flat, kick the door in… She was gone. 

She’d pulled back, leaving him wide-eyed, stunned, and aching for more of her touch—more of  _ her _ —already. 

“Sounds lovely, Theo.” She tossed him a wink, backing up a couple of steps, grasping her doorknob with one hand while hugging the tin to her chest with the other. “I look forward to exchanging stories of how long we’ve fancied each other later tonight… Perhaps over a biscuit?” 

“Sure!” he croaked. He fucking  _ croaked _ like some third year whose voice was changing, but that must have been all right, because she wasn’t taking anything back as she slowly closed the door, eyes locked on his all the while. 

Alone on the stoop of her flat, he exhaled slowly, thinking only of the fact that Daphne fancied him. 

That she’d accepted his gift. 

And he would be seeing her tonight, which meant there was a great deal more potential conversation topics to practice under his breath. 

“Happy Christmas, Father,” he chuckled with smug satisfaction, slipping his hands in his pockets, a spring in his step as he made his way back to the Apparition point. 


	21. Harry and Tonks

* * *

Harry knew he wasn’t always the smartest or the brightest. Hermione liked to remind him how thick he could be when he tried to be all noble and dramatic with his lingering ‘hero-complex.’ 

But tonight he liked to think he understood everything perfectly. 

Tonks was sporting a little black dress that dipped sinfully low down her back and hugged every last curve of her delectable body, leaving very little to the imagination—though Harry’s mind  _ tried _ … 

Oh, how it tried. 

She’d opted for simple bubble-gum pink flats—“safer for me and everyone around me,” she always claimed—but the clincher for the ensemble was her hair. 

Thick and silken and pulled in a loose bun atop her head…

And black as the inky midnight sky. 

_ “My hair changes of its own accord to suit my mood. Or when I’ve someone on my mind.” _

She’d admitted that to him only last week at the end of a work day. 

Their eyes locked from across the room, and his grip tightened around his tumbler as she winked and made some gesture between her hair and him, before slowly turning and resuming her conversation with Molly. 

Harry threw back the remained of his drink in a large gulp, relishing the burn. 

Willing it to fuel his nerves as he crossed the room; closing the gap between him and the witch who’d stolen his heart. 


	22. Remus and Lily--fifth year

* * *

“ _ She’s late.”  _

“She’s not late, we’re—” a pause to check his wrist watch “—we’re three minutes early.” 

“ _ Want her here. Now. _ ” 

“I know!” A snap. Followed by a huff. Then a carding of hands through tired dirty blond hair. “Moony, I know. But you know that you’ve no reason—”

“ _ She smells nice. She’s nice to us. She  _ ** _likes _ ** _ us.”  _

A heavy sigh. Remus ceased his pacing to sag into a wall. “How many times must we have this conversation? She’s nice to everyone—she  **likes** James.” 

“ _ No. She snarls at Prongs. But she smiles at us.”  _

“You’ve got it all wrong. I’m telling you that she—” 

“Talking to your invisible friend again, Remus?” The werewolf student in question snapped his jaw shut immediately as his fellow Gryffindor prefect entered his line of vision, long red hair loose and fanning around her shoulders, a broad smile splayed across her cheeks, hands clasped together over the front of her robes. “Has he already sniffed out mischief for us to stumble upon and break up this evening?” 

Moony cooed a smug and satisfied tune while Remus shook his head, wiping his hands over his robes. “Not I’m aware of. He’s just…”  _ Shite _ . Lily was so understanding and being honest with her had always been the easiest—hell, the most natural—thing in the world to do. He chewed on his tongue as he jerked his head, taking several steps forward. “He’s just a bit zealous of time lately, and thought we were getting a late start.” 

“Ah.” Lily nodded, her hair bouncing with a life of its own as she caught up with his long strides. It would be so easy—Godric, it would be  _ so  _ damn easy to give into Moony… She nudged his arm with hers, winked and slipped her hands within the folds of her robes. “Tell Moony I apologise then, but I was helping Marlene with number five on our Arithmancy homework.” 

“ _ Smart. Kind. Thoughtful. Lov— _ ” 

“NUMBER FIVE!” Remus all but shouted, and hated that he’d made Lily wince, but Moony needed to be stopped.  _ Had  _ to be silenced. This was getting out of hand. “Had me stumped for a while, too.” 

Lily laughed, the sweet feminine sound tickling the air all around and between them, winding sharp claws into Remus’ heart even as he tried to calm Moony’s triumphant yips.

Sweet Merlin… Bloody, buggering, stupid werewolf. 

“Liar.” She giggled again and moved ahead of him to check inside an empty classroom that was a favourite for Hufflepuff couples. “All clear in there tonight; exams must be getting to everyone.” 

“Must be.” Remus dug his hands in his pockets, awareness, nerves, scents, and  _ every-fucking-thing  _ closing in on him now. Easy, easy, easy. It would be all too easy to give into Moony. He and Lily had much more in common considering they shared more classes than she and James. All this time on prefect patrol. The fact she’d found out about his wolf months and months before Sirius and James had… Hell, Peter had to be  _ told _ … 

His silent war continued floor after floor, Remus and Lily tossing about a handful of exchanges here and there. It wasn’t until they’d almost come to the end of their patrol that he broke free from the haze of his own internal battle enough to notice Lily gnawing on her bottom lip—which wouldn’t be unusual for her, but there was a ferocity to it this time… And the way she smoothed her hair behind her ear several times in a row, when not a hair strayed from place. 

“You all right, Lily?"

“Not especially, Remus.” She turned to him, her smile sad and barely skimming a quarter of the way up her cheeks.

_ “COMFORT. HER.”  _

It wasn’t a request. Moony bared his teeth at the front of Remus’ mind, but the youth held strong, balling his hands into fists, and attempting to swallow the desert in his mouth. 

“Anything you want to talk about? Sorry I’ve been… Well, that is… Preoccupied and all, but I’m here if there’s anything you’d like to get off your chest.” 

“Thank you.”

Her head bobbed a few times, mouth opening and closing, then opening and closing again...

Filling him with courage to prod again: “Is it Petunia?” 

She gave a dark chuckle. “No. That’s the easiest part of going home, if I’m being honest. She won’t talk to me hardly and that’s that. Sev on the other hand…” 

“Oh,” Remus murmured even as Moony barked a loud, “ _ End him.”  _ Remus silently bid his wolf to, “shut it,” as he flexed his hands. “Are the two of you still planning to meet up and exchange presents?” 

“Dunno,” she answered, voice low, her shoulders lifting in the heaviest and most useless appearing shrug he’d ever seen come from Lily. “I want to. This would be five years for it now, but…” She trailed off and tucked her hair needlessly behind her ear again—it was already perfect, though. “He’s not making this easy for me this year. James and Sirius hardly approve that I still study potions with him.” 

Remus snorted as Moony huffed and began pacing a wide circle. “Since when have you ever cared what either of those two thought?” 

He was joking, meaning to lighten the mood, and had he not been looking  _ right at her _ , taking in every inch of her face at just that moment, he would have missed it. It was there and gone in an instant, in a flash. The faintest dusting of pink under the spattering of freckles across her cheeks. 

She  _ blushed _ . 

_ Lily  _ blushed. 

Shite. 

“I don’t,” she attempted, but both Remus and Moony caught the waver in her voice. “You’re the best of the lot of them, but Severus… I don’t like the friends he’s making. I don’t like what’s happening to  _ him _ … I’m not even sure I like  _ anything  _ that seems to happening these days.” 

She was aching. Hurting. Needing. Moony also scented fear, anxiety, and a sharp waft of grief. 

And it would be so…

Fucking…

Easy…

“I don’t think many of us do, Lils,” he managed, doubling down on his resolve, shoving his hands in his pockets.  _ Hard.  _ “But maybe that means we work at our friendships all the more. Love and loyalty go a long way, and… I guess you never know what good can come from the smallest of things.” 

“Thanks, Remus.” Everything came to a screeching halt as she wrapped her delicate fingers around his elbow, giving a grateful squeeze, searing his skin through layers of clothing. “Dunno what I’d do without your friendship.” 

He was about to answer, but then she lifted herself to the tips of her toes, and something soft brushed against his cheek. 

Her lips… 

Her  _ lips _ …!

Moony leapt and barked and howled as heat flooded Remus’ face. She bid him a quiet  _ goodnight _ , telling him she was slipping down to the kitchens for a cuppa cocoa—how she managed to charm the Hogwarts house-elves into keeping her in supply every exam season, Remus had never learned… She  _ was  _ magic though. 

Remus was still breathless in the wake of  _ her _ , a hand floating of its own accord to cradle where Lily’s lips had been. James would never know. He wouldn’t tell him—because there was  _ nothing  _ to tell. 

Nothing at all. 

James was pack. 

James was  _ pack _ . 

The words became his mantra as he made for the Fat Lady, his absolution and the only means of lulling Moony into a state of sanity. 

He drew a sharp breath before blurting out the password and climbing through the entrance. 

James need never know. Never need to be made aware of the extent of his value to Remus. Prongs may not take much to Moony’s brooding and excess bite the next few transformations, but Remus meant what he’d told Lily: 

Love and loyalty. 

Love in his friendship with Lily that he wouldn’t make her year even more complicated. 

Loyalty to James—a member of his pack. 

And pack came first— _ always _ . 

Even Moony couldn’t refute that. 


	23. Ron and Hermione--post war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my darling LK. You asked for a Ron and Hermione and I did it <3 I hope you all like it

* * *

“You look beautiful tonight, Hermione.” 

Her shoulders stiffened, and blimey but why did they have to  _ stiffen _ ? It seemed he managed to have that effect on her still… After all the time that had passed. 

“Thank you, Ron,” she answered, low and hesitant, looking back at him over her shoulder with a pained smile twisted across her face. 

As if she hadn’t truly meant it… As if she’d rather he just go away. 

Well, bollocks that. That was exactly how he’d lost her last time. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, completely tongue-tied now that it’d come down to a moment alone with her tonight—which was no small feat for Christmas Eve at the Burrow. “Mind if I sit down?” 

“Of course not.” She scooted herself over on the roof, patting the space beside her to her left, waiting until he was seated with his knees drawn up before she spoke again. “I suppose I was hoping you’d come looking for me. Or maybe just wishing… I dunno…” 

“Is there a difference?” He nudged her shoulder with his, a crooked smile curling up the side of his face. 

“Probably not to most, but there’s one glaring difference that packs quite the punch when one cares to examine it more closely.” 

He waited and waited, silence settled over them as a thick blanket under a star speckled sky… Merlin, but it was still little things like that that opened his eyes to the painful realisation of how much he’d hurt her in that bloody break-up fight… Three years later, and she still didn’t feel free to be herself enough to dive into lengthy explanations of her opinion at any opportunity. 

A lump of self-loathing and anger welled in his throat, which he fought to swallow… He reminded himself they’d mended a great deal of wounds between them in the last year, and he was here now… 

Hoping for a new beginning… Wishing still she’d choose him to be her wizard…  _ After all these years…  _

“D’you…” His mouth ran dry and he swallowed a few times before trying again. “D’you think you could share what you think the difference is?” 

She eyed him cautiously for several unblinking heartbeats. With good reason. He’d treated her as his childhood chum he got to have sex with the first time they’d tried dating after the war. He’d teased, lashed out in defense when his hackles had been raised, whined and whinged and blown smoke out of his ears to have his way… 

It’d taken a solid year after they’d broken up for them to come to a place of attempting for a friendship again. Another year-and-a-half for that friendship to grow and deepen. And another six months of signs and signals to get him to the point of pining and yearning madness, needing to know if he was alone in wanting to try again, or if there was even the slightest of possibilities for more. 

“Sure, Ron.” A small, but no less genuine smile crept up her cheeks as she lifted a hand. “So, I think the defining difference between the two stems completely from their roots. Wishes are more of dreams and wonder and stories. There’s a childlike innocence to them, and whether they ought to be fulfilled or not isn’t entirely the point—the point is the dream and imagination behind it all."

“Not entirely sure I’m following that logic, Hermione.” His brow puckered, and while some small and very petulant part of him wanted to roll his eyes and walk away, leaving her to these lofty ideas, the rest of him  _ knew _ that was part of what he’d done wrong before. What he’d done wrong with everyone, always. Opinions should be validated, his therapist had told him—even the ones he didn’t understand. 

Step one: Check. 

Step two: “Reckon you could give an example?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Right, so…” She bit down on her lip as her eyes squinted… As though she were searching through a book in her mind. “Think of it like a child wishing he could eat only candy all the time. It’s normal and innocent and something no one really takes away from him. His mum keeps serving him the balanced meals with nutrition to help him grow, all the while finding ways to slip sweets and treats into his life, too.

“And the child isn’t necessarily mad that it can’t happen or hasn’t happened, because he gets fed and full, and still gets to have his sweets, too. And eventually, it’s grown out of and he forgets all about it. Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah.” His head bobbed and he remained proud of himself for not retreating to a place of self-defense at the simplicity of her example. This was  _ not _ making a statement of how smart or dumb he was, but a thoughtful gesture on her part.

_ Blimey, ruddy, therapy…  _

She was silent still, which meant she was giving him room and time to muddle through her explanation. Because she’d grown to be more patient over the years, and Merlin, if he didn’t still lo—

“So, if wishes are more childlike,” he blurted, far too loud for the proximity of their bodies, but he needed to not go down that road… Not yet, at least. “Then hope is something more adult?” 

_ Idiot _ , he hissed to himself, thinking he should just vanish now. That was far too easy and couldn’t possibly— 

“Precisely, Ron!” She sounded happy, and her smile was brighter than the shine of the full moon in the inky sky above, the stars dancing in her eyes as she nodded vigorously. “That’s exactly what I think. That hopes have been through things, you know? They’ve seen and know the best and the worst of it all, and still believe in better or more. In spite of all the impossible opposition, hope stands its ground, a spark to light a fire for what we believe in and stand for.” 

His breath caught and heart seized. 

He loved her. Fuck, how he loved her. He’d never get away from loving Hermione Granger. She was  _ still  _ everything he’d ever wanted _ …  _ Wanted to be, wanted to have in his life, wanted to call his own, wanted to be known as hers… 

“So, you came all the way up for a private moment at the Burrow on Christmas Eve, cast warming and weather repelling charms on my parents’ roof to think of the differences between wishes and dreams?” 

_ Wrong, wrong, WRONG! All wrong, Ron!!!  _

Even so, she wasn’t cringing or lashing out a retort. Instead, his ears caught a faint, “yeah,” followed by a watery scoff as she rubbed a hand over her nose. “A bit silly, isn’t it?” 

“No.” Without a second thought, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, squishing their sides that much closer together… 

Until cold dread washed over him and he realised what he’d done and waited in breathless agony for her to wrench herself away… Only, she didn’t. She  _ wasn’t _ extricating herself from his touch, and in fact was doing just the opposite— _ she was leaning into him!  _

Hope lived after all! 

He dropped his forehead to her curls and breathed deep, assuring her in her hair, “Not silly at all.”

“Feels silly,” she said, withdrawing her head from his touch, only to lean back in, cupping his cheek with her hand. “I can’t decide if it’s all a childish wish or mature hope that brings me back to you, Ron. We’ve hurt each other so much before, and I know we’ve made amends and each been through our own therapy sessions over the last few years apart, but I just…” 

Everything ceased to exist beyond what was happening with Hermione. With Hermione on the roof of the Burrow… 

His hand covered hers on his cheek, his thumb tracing over hers, a thrill shooting down his spine as he watched her shiver. “You just what, love?” he whispered, voice husky and thick with emotions he couldn’t name. 

“I’m scared,” she said, chocolate-brown eyes swimming with unshed tears. “I’m so scared of losing you again if we try. I’m scared of cutting you down and deep like I did before, and I don’t know if I could recover from all I put you through without realising it a second time.” 

That lump returned and it was all he could do to nod because he understood. He did. Completely. “I know. When the dust had settled afterwards and I got over my own broken pride, the thing that drove me to therapy was hearing and replaying all the things I’d said to turn you away… To make you think I didn’t love you.” 

Her eyes blew wide as she began to try to withdraw. “Oh, Ron,” she started, but he held on all the higher, dipping his face lower, so that they shared breath… So that he could  _ hear _ the thundering of her heart. “You… you don’t mean that right now… You just… You can’t.” 

“I can though. And I do.” It was such an easy thing to admit when it came down to it, and he started to wonder if all they needed was the right time and place after all… Just like Harry and his mum had said. “I’m scared of losing what we have now, too. I’d be a fool to lie and try to say I’m not. But I’d only be a coward if I never told you how much I still love you.” 

Tears tracked down her cheeks, but he was there, wiping them away with a tenderness he didn’t think he’d ever shown her before… And there was that bloody hope again, blooming and warming him from the inside out, filling him with courage to believe this had the capacity to last this time. 

“I love you,” he repeated, bringing their foreheads to rest on each other. “Those may sound like empty words considering our past, but you’ve seen us in the last couple of years. We’ve grown to become even better friends than we ever were before, but I want more. I wanna give you more and be more to you. I wanna love you right and proper this time.” 

“I… Merlin, I want to try that, too…” 

_ But…  _

The way her eyes squeezed shut, the ending lilt in her voice… 

He knew there as a ‘but’ coming… 

“Tell me what you’re thinking, love,” he bid, heart hanging by a thread. “What is it?” 

“I’m still scared. That’s all.” 

The dam broke and he could hold himself back no more. His lips closed over hers in a flash. Firm, but not pressing or demanding. Enough to say a great deal without voicing another word. She angled her face, sliding her lips against his, her hand dropping to his neck, fingers curling around the collar of his Christmas jumper… 

Only to pull away before he could even think of venturing to see if she’d open her mouth to him… If she’d let him taste her… 

She unfurled her fingers and began to smooth them over the top of his jumper, her voice was hesitant as she spoke, “Well, then. I suppose loving each other is a very good place to start.” 

“Yeah,” he murmured, catching her fingers in his, bringing their twined hands to his mouth so he could kiss her knuckles. Her thumb. And the inside of her wrist. “I had a thought that we could each make appointments with our therapists and make together visits with each of them, if you wanted. Figured it’d be a good thing to keep us on the right track from the beginning…” 

He hoped that didn’t sound too desperate or needy… Too much as though this was something he’d agonised too long over… 

But when she responded with a kiss and a hushed, “What a perfect idea, Ron,” he felt as though this was another sign of hope at work… 

Of a belief that change and growth could bring about second chances. 

“We’ll make appointments first thing in the new year, all right? New year, new beginnings, new relationship…” Her lips met his cheek in a kiss that melted him from the inside out, in a kiss he  _ wished _ would never end, but he knew would… “Quite poetic if you think about it,” she finished, shifting herself so that she was now nestled between his legs. 

A sign she had no intention of leaving the rooftop anytime soon. 

And so he felt safe in admitting, “I’ve never read much poetry, actually,” and then asking if she’d like to tell him about it… 

Her contented giggle before going off in a lengthy explanation was music to his ears. Sweet music under the moon and the stars and the hushed calm of the world… 

It was all he could and would ever want from life. 


	24. Golden Trio post-war Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Frumpologist <3

* * *

It’s all very out-of-body and Harry thinks maybe he’s had enough experiences like that to last a lifetime, but to take stock in just this moment to fully appreciate it this time. 

Because there’s no one out to get him; no one seeking to control his mind. No looming nefarious shadow waiting to take hold, to sink its claws into and use him for their own purposes. 

No. 

Tonight there’s only laughter, Butterbeer, friends, and peace. 

_ It’s quiet…  _

Not within the pub itself, no—although the background hum and thrum of the previously bustling establishment has dulled to a soothing lullaby of giggles and soft conversation. But in his head. In his heart. 

Between his friends.

The voices are gone. 

They left him the moment Voldemort fell against his own spell, and, sure, he’s had other nightmares and haunts to plague him in the night as he sleeps… In the day in the field as he continues to work his way through Auror training. 

But counselling helps him deal with those, and tonight they’re blissfully silent. 

Maybe it’s because enough time has passed. Or maybe it’s because Harry has always known where he’s safest. Where he’s most beloved and wanted.

Right here. Sharing a table with Hermione and Ron. 

They’ve been going at it about a potion that George has been tinkering with for the store for the last five minutes now, and it’s so pleasant to be able to get lost in this scene. He’s watched them brush shoulders, clasp hands, exchange winks, and trade off blushing cheeks all evening, and he still doesn’t know where they’re at. Doesn’t know if  _ they’ve _ even come to any sort of conclusion about that. 

Hell, Harry’s not even sure if they’ve figured that out within themselves yet, either. Much less talked about it all... 

It’s been different the remainder of this year with Hermione back at Hogwarts and Ron working with George at the joke shop. He’s missed the simplicity of them just being  _ them _ … The three of them together. 

And as he’s sitting there watching them, not really participating in the current conversation, he decides it’s all right not knowing how it’s all going to work out. The only thing Harry has planned for now is to complete his training and be assigned a permanent partner within the next three months, and for Hermione to live with him at Grimmauld once she’s finished at Hogwarts. 

He’s not sure how Ginny will fit into anything—they’re still having those talks, and occasionally those very convincing snogs that lead him to believe they’ll come to a conclusion of sorts soon enough… 

But for now,  _ for now _ , he has this. 

He has Hermione and Ron. 

Who are now both looking at him expectantly, as if he’s supposed to have some form of an answer to a question he hasn’t heard… 

So it’s time to venture back into the present and catch up on what he’s missed. 

Because he remembers what Christmas had been last year, and several times  _ before _ … A lifetime ago when there’d only been Harry Potter living in the cupboard under the stairs… And this Harry Potter is thankful for all that’s happened to lead him to this specific night before Christmas Eve.

To this night with his friends. 


End file.
